Last Stand in Open Country
by TexIn1880
Summary: AU. A new spin on the events both before and after 'NFA'. This indeed will be the final battle, but history has a different idea on how it will be fought.
1. War Drums

**A/N: This is a bit AU as you'll be able to tell early on. It's just an idea I couldn't shake. It will probably a bit slow and confusing at times, but I'm trying to work through it. It'll shift between events both before and after NFA. The title comes from the Willie Nelson song "Last Stand in Open Country".**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Jake.**

Wesley had been waiting for this moment. Waiting a very long time. He knew he didn't possess the power or the ability that the decrepit figure before him wielded. He only wished he had decided to pack his trusty pistols, rather than the meager switchblade. At least that might have left a mark, some trace that he had gone down fighting. As he hovered just off the ground, trying to conjure up one last fireball, he realized that it was indeed about to end. Who was he kidding? He welcomed the end. His only regret was the he would miss the grand finale that he knew was coming. He had hoped he could be there with Angel and Gunn, shoulder to shoulder one last time... like the old days. He saw the blade coming towards him, and when he felt it rip into his stomach he knew it was over.

Vail was enjoying this little spar a great deal. He, like the rest of the Black Thorn, had viewed Wesley as the perfect replacement for Angel. He, more than anyone, could sense the anguish and rage that flowed through the man. He had been stripped of everything he held dear. Wesley Wyndham-Price was a man with nothing to lose, and that made him very appealing to Vail. But, alas, Mr. Pryce had come to be a disappointment. Even the man's meager attempts to harm the sorcerer were disappointing. But Vail was no fool, he knew the broken man hovering before him had come here to die, and Vail was more than willing to indulge him. Vail grinned a little as he saw the blade enter Wesley's abdomen. Just a simple twist was all...

Suddenly, Vail's thoughts were interrupted by a blinding pain in his shoulder. He looked down slowly and was horrified to see two feet of solid steel protruding from chest at the point where his heart was. He gasped for air as he turned around, only to see a glint of light before everything went black.

Wesley was in a tremendous amount of pain. But he welcomed it. It made him feel alive, even though he knew he was about to die. Suddenly, he felt the blade slide out as he crashed onto the ground. Bewildered, he immediately clutched his stomach, slowing the bleeding down just a bit. He looked across the floor to see a decapitated Vail lying before him. His eyes traveled up to the figure that stood over the body and he took a sharp breath. She always had a knack for showing up unexpectedly.

"Geez Wes, what the hell is going on," Faith nearly screamed as she raced over to where her former Watcher lay bleeding.

The first thought that entered her mind was the sight of his blood. She immediately thought back to that chair... and all that blood. She bit her lip to keep her mind focused as she bent down to tend the wound.

"Faith," he coughed out. "What a lovely surprise, but how did you..."

"Not now Wes, this gash is wicked deep. We've got to get you some attention, like now."

That wasn't what Wesley wanted to hear. Not that he wasn't grateful, but this wasn't the way tonight was supposed to end.

"Faith, you have to get to Angel, he..."

He was cutoff as Faith draped his arm over his shoulder and hoisted him upright. The quick movement, coupled with his blood loss caused his vision to blur and his head to spin.

"Angel can handle his own, he always has. We're gettin' you to the hospital," Faith replied as she began to drag Wesley towards the back of the mansion.

She knew she had to hurry. She had what you might call 'first-hand knowledge' of gaping stomach wounds, and she knew he probably wouldn't last more than an hour.

"Faith, you don't unders..." was all Wesley managed to spit out before the darkness enveloped him.

Faith looked over and knew that he had slipped into unconsciousness. She _had_ to hurry now. Manly pride be damned, she picked him up in her arms and started to run.

"Slayer strength don't fail me now," she murmured as she tore out the door she had busted on her entrance and raced to the station wagon she had managed to 'acquire' back in Cleveland.

Illyria could not explain what had prompted her to proceed to the sorcerer's mansion after she had completed her task. Somewhere inside she knew that Wesley was no match for a being of that power. Cyvus Vail was beneath her in every aspect, but Wesley was a mere mortal. A human on top of that. He would not be able to defeat Vail without her assistance. She marched into the parlor of the mansion and came to abrupt halt. The sight before her perplexed her. Across the room was the decapitated body of Cyvus Vail. A few paces in front of the body was a large blade and a small puddle of blood. She strode across the room and picked up the blade. She could tell the blood on the blade, as well as the blood on the floor was human. Wesley had been wounded. But, he had somehow managed to kill the sorcerer in a most pleasing way. Illyria could feel the smile tug at the corner of her lips. She felt a strange sensation... what had Wesley referred to it as... pride. Yes, she was _proud_ that her guide had completed his task. She turned and strode out of the mansion. She would see her guide again, and together they would halt the armies of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart.

"Any word on Wes," Gunn asked as he stared down at the unhealthy amount of blood that was seeping through his clothes.

"He is not here?" was the bewildered reply of Illyria as she stepped into sight.

Angel looked away in a moment of anguish. He knew that Wes probably wasn't coming back from his mission. Hell, he knew Wes didn't _want_ to come back.

"I went to sorcerer's mansion and found him dead, but Wesley was not to be found. I assumed he would join us here for the final fight," Illyria stated in an anxious voice.

Angel's head snapped up. Wesley had done his part and he wasn't dead. But why wasn't he here?

"Well, that means he either bailed on us or the bloke fell before he could get here," was all Spike could answer with.

Angel flashed Spike a look that could have killed most beings, demon or not.

"Wesley wouldn't abandon us. He must have run out of time trying to get here," Angel replied sadly.

One more soldier down. One more that Angel had sent to the ground. He straightened up and tightened the grip on his broad sword. Tonight it would end. He turned toward the end of the alleyway as he saw the army approach. If this was to be the last stand, he was going to make it one for the ages.

_One week earlier_

_Rome_

It was nights like these that Buffy Summers wished that she had brought the new Slayer army with her to Rome. Sure, it would be selfish. They were needed throughout the world. There were still Hellmouths and there were still things that went bump in the night. But fighting a pack of four vampires alone while wearing her brand new skirt and matching shoes was nothing short of annoying. Why the hell did there have to be vampires in Rome, anyway? She knew her latest love interest was a vampire and she was certain he had a few goons. But these four didn't have the fashion taste to be linked with the Immortal. Too bad for them. She spun away from an errant punch from one of the vampires and buried a stake in through its back. The dust hadn't even settled before another one landed a stiff kick to the side of her head and she was sent tumbling to the ground.

"Now I'm really pissed," she bit out as she hopped back to her feet and connected with a roundhouse.

The vampire stumbled back and Buffy plunged the stake directly into his chest. Two down. The other two vampires wasted no time in circling her. They both stalked around her, but neither seemed particularly eager to enter the fray. Finally, the one behind her leapt onto her back while the other rushed forward. Buffy easily kicked the on comer away and managed to wiggle and arm free to land a few well placed elbows in her rear attacker's face. She turned and caught him square in the gut with a knee and drove the stake through from back to front. However, before she could even relish in the dusting, she felt a something solid smash into the back of her skull. For a split second, Buffy saw stars and she tumbled forward trying to regain her bearings. Before she could react the vampire was on her. She could smell its acrid breath and could feel the wait pressing down on her, but she was too dazed to react in any timely fashion. The vampire bared its fangs and made for the Slayer's neck. Suddenly, the weight was gone and the smell was replaced by that of ash and decay. Buffy rolled over and struggled to her feet, still a bit dazed. She saw a movement in the shadows, and she readied herself for yet another fight.

"Whoa whoa! I'm on your side!" barked the shadow as it saw Buffy ready herself.

The figure moved into the moonlight with hands raised high. In his left was some sort of pistol, smoke still curling out of the barrel.

"Really? And just who might you be?" was Buffy's reply.

The figure before her definitely did not belong in Rome. He didn't belong in Italy for that matter. He was fairly tall and slight build. But the worn out felt hat and the busted boots were not on the cutting edge of any fashion trend. And to top it off he was wearing a worn out brown duster. What was it with her and dusters?

"I'm a friend. I saw you were being attacked and I figured I'd lend a helpin' hand."

The reply was rough and laced with a bit of a Southern drawl. The man lowered his pistol and opened his duster, replacing it behind his back. Buffy quickly noticed the large belt buckle and the even larger dagger that was sheathed to his side.

"Didn't anybody tell you the Dwight Yoakum look is out... like seven years out?"

That remarked rendered a soft chuckle from the man. Buffy smirked a bit and then turned to leave.

"Hey! Is that all the thanks I get for helpin' out the lady? I mean, I didn't kinda just save your life back there."

Buffy turned back around, crossing her arms over her chest and again sizing up this imitation cowboy.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the help. But I don't normally throw my arms around complete strangers and shower them with thanks just because they staked a distracted vampire. Besides, I'm far from helpless."

The man stared straight ahead at the Slayer, eyes never leaving hers.

"Oh I know. You're the Slayer. Or, I guess one of 'em nowadays. But you're actually the One y'know, the head honcho."

Now it was Buffy who let out a chuckle. Head honcho? Where did these people come from?

"Well, I'm glad to see you know who I am. But see, I still don't have a clue as to who you are, and I really don't care. And since we're finished here, I'm just gonna..."

"The name is... uhh... Jake. I'm here to find you."

Buffy's brow furrowed at that statement, the man had officially got her full attention.

"You're here to find me? Well, you've found me. Now the next question is for what?"

The stern look Jake had been wearing didn't budge.

"There's somethin' comin' and it's big. Bigger than your battle with the First. Bigger than anything this world has ever seen. It's biblical. And you're one of the big guns we need to stop it."

Buffy's heart sank. She had battled everything this world and any other world had thrown her way. She had taken down the First, destroyed the Sunnydale Hellmouth and just wanted to relax. It seemed the fates were never done sticking their collective noses in her life.

"We need to hurry sweetheart. We ain't got alot of time, and we're gonna need to talk with your friends. They're gonna play a big part in this too. We're gonna need every bit of help we can muster."

Buffy let out a sigh and turned away. She began to walk towards the man.

"Alright. Come with me. But if you're nothing more than a vamp or a two-bit demon, I will dust your ass before you can blink."

Jake nodded her direction began walking out of the cemetery by her side. He noticed she was still clutching her stake a little too tightly. He could see the white of her knuckles. He knew she didn't trust him. The last time they crossed path she had reacted much the same way. He let out a breath as the wheels in his mind began to churn. He didn't know how he was going to tell the story to her or her friends. He knew that they wouldn't believe it. She refused to help last time. Somehow, he had to convince her to fight this time. They needed her and her friends. Otherwise, all would be lost... again. The two turned the corner and continued their walk.

"Oh, and by the way? Don't ever call me sweetheart again."


	2. Reality Betrayed

The four would-be heroes moved forward together, Angel at the point with Illyria and Spike on either side. Gunn struggled and limped behind the three, but continued to hack and slash at anything that managed to get through the wall his friends formed in front of him. Illyria told him he wouldn't last ten minutes. He was starting to believe her. Every second his movements became slower, his breath harder to inhale. He could feel the drowsiness tugging at the back of his mind. He wanted so badly to simply rest. But he couldn't bring himself to stop moving forward. He would be damned if he was simply going to slump over and die. He was Charles Gunn. He didn't have the abnormal strength that his three friends possessed, but he'd be damned if he went down without a fight. He looked on with amazement as the three before him continued to plow head first into this massive army. There just might be hope for the world after all. Suddenly, a small demon that seemed to be covered in irregular spikes appeared behind Spike. Gunn didn't waste the opportunity. He lifted his axe and swung down at the little hellbeast. The blade simply glanced off what looked to be the demon's shoulder. Gunn looked on in disgust as the demon turned its attention back towards him. He grinned as he saw the demon swipe at him with its razor sharp claws and he felt the sting that meant he had been slashed. Slumping to his knees, Gunn looked down and saw nothing but dark blood oozing from his newest wound. He looked back towards the other three, smile never leaving his face.

"Give 'em hell," he whispered, so softly that he barely heard it himself. With that thought, he pitched forward and finally let the darkness take him in. Charles Gunn had fallen.

Amidst the battle cries and the shrieks of demons that had found his sword blade, Angel never thought he would hear something so faint. But he did, as if it was an explosion inside his own head. He glanced back and saw Gunn lying face down on the pavement, a puddle of freshly spilled blood slowly expanding around him. Rage took control once more, and Angel leveled his broadsword at the little demon who had taken his friend's life. With a war cry that would have chilled the Senior Partners themselves, Angel brought the blade down across the head of the demon with such force that it didn't glance off, but rather split the creatures head directly down the middle. Angel quickly turned back to others and continued to push forward. They had put up one hell of a fight so far, but Angel saw nothing but demons ahead, and he knew that the end was probably near.

Illyria battled on with a rage that surprised even her. She couldn't control the emotions that Wesley's death had caused, and they were doing nothing but fueling the fire. Pummeling demon after demon, she thought how pathetic they were. In her time, these beings would've been killed for mere entertainment, their cries and shrieks delighting her fancy until she grew tired and simply destroyed them all herself. She held little respect for Angel, but she had to admit that the half-breed had managed a very good battle plan. Fighting abreast allowed them keep their enemies in front of them while moving forward at the same time. But she soon found that the three were being isolated from another by sheer numbers. She cared little. She continued to pummel anything that stood before. She pressed forward, until she was face to face with a group of demons crouched on one knee.

"You... you are the Old One!" was the cry from one of the demons. "We have no desire to fight you! We wish only to serve!"

"You serve the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart! Their power does not even compare to mine! Rise and be destroyed!"

Illyria's booming demand had no effect. The demons remained stationary, most with their heads bowed, refusing to look her in the eye.

"We serve them because they have power. But indeed your power is much greater! Our numbers our great and our allegiance is to you Old One. Let us aid you. We can reshape this world in your image!"

Illyria looked on, stunned beyond words. Her power had been severely checked. She was much too strong for the shell that she inhabited. But as she looked on, she noticed that the small group that had once stood before had multiplied in almost an instant. Hundreds if not thousands of demons seemed to be hinged on her decision. A smile crept across her face.

"Then go! Wage war on those who serve the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. Make sure that they will never forget whom they have come here to fight."

In an instant, the demons turned and began to attack the columns that filled the alley. Nothing short of chaos was to ensue. The demon who had first spoken to Illyria approached her, head still bowed.

"Old One, we will destroy the armies of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. But we must also destroy the half-breed champions. They will not allow you to rule as you once did. They fear you. That is why they curbed your power. They have lied and deceived you. They sent your guide to die, to leave you vulnerable and beneath their heel."

Again, Illyria was strangely silent. She had entered this fight because of her resentment of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. But she also knew that it was what Wesley wanted her to do. But Wesley was gone. Killed by a sorcerer that Angel knew no human could defeat. He had been sentenced to death. She recalled the change in her guide once the half-breed's memory spell had been broken. She still harbored a hatred for him because of it. But would Wesley approve? Angel had taken everything from him and then marched him off to die. She would not let his death be in vein.

"Very well. But bring them to me first. I want them to know the reason that they will die here today."

The demon turned and rejoined in the fighting. Illyria strode forward and continued as well. Her time had finally come. She relished the thought of exacting Wesley's revenge on Angel. He had manipulated and controlled his underlings very well. He indeed knew how wield power. But Illyria knew much more and was much more powerful. She would show him how to rule.

Angel and Spike had long since lost sight of Illyria. There were just too damned many demons. Both vampires were covered in blood, some was their own, but most was that of the demons they had cut down. Angel stared ahead grimly, continuing to slash away. But commotion to his left caught his eye. The once massive demon army now seemed to be in the midst of battling one another. Angel smiled. Perhaps this was finally the break that he had hoped for. He turned to Spike, and saw that the platinum-blonde too had noticed the shift in the battle. The two exchanged a smile, but the moment was cut short when a horde of demons surrounded them. Now they were in trouble. Amidst the hack, slash, move forward plan, both Angel and Spike found themselves surrounded on three sides by an endless number of demons and on the fourth by the wall of a nearby building. The two raised their swords, but the demons did not charge.

"Your time has come champions. You have been sentenced to death in the name of the Old One!"

Spike let out a laugh.

"In case you haven't noticed, Ol' Blue is fighting on our side."

The demon did not return the laugh.

"No half-breed. She has grown tired of your manipulations. She has joined us in hopes of remaking this world. We will destroy the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. And we will destroy you, along with any other being who dares stand in the way of Illyria!"

Spike's grin quickly faded. What the bloody hell was going on? It had to be some sort of trick. Illyria wouldn't simply switch sides. If for no other reason than because this was Wesley's side. He glanced at Angel, and noticed that his grand-sire's face was just as puzzled as he. He turned his attention back to the demon and raised his sword to charge. It was then that he saw the horde begin to part as Illyria, flanked on all sides by demons strode forward.

"What the bloody hell is going on Blue!" Spike roared.

"Silence half-breed! You two will pay for your actions. You have tried to keep under your thumb with lies and deceit. You stood by and allowed my guide in this world to be killed in your name. I have chosen to return the favor in his."

Angel had had enough. In the back of his mind, he always knew that Illyria would be a wild card. He had tried to have her killed, but Wesley wouldn't allow it. He never would let go of Fred, and now the consequences had arrived in spades.

"You know that Wesley wouldn't want it Illyria! He was a champion, just like me and Spike. He died fighting the good fight. If he were here, he wouldn't dare allow this!"

"You dare to lecture me on what my guide desired? You stripped him of his memories and altered his reality. Then you led him as a lamb to the slaughter. His blood is on your hands half-breed. You will pay for your betrayal."

Angel didn't give Illyria time to spout anymore rhetoric. He raised his sword and charged her, vowing to kill the twisted bitch. He never got there. Before Angel could blink, the horde of demons stormed both him and Spike. The two vampires put up a valiant fight. There was a moment where they actually began to the horde back. But they were doomed by numbers alone. Out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw the blade that severed Spike's head. It was dust before it hit the ground. Surrounded on all sides Angel began to hack wildly at anything that moved. This was it. He had come all this way and now, instead of giving the world one moment of light, he had doomed to a fate far worse than that of Wolfram and Hart. Continuing to slash, he never saw the blade from behind. He felt a slight sting and then there was nothing.

Illyria looked on pleased. She reached to the ground and picked up the blood covered broadsword that now lay in a mound of ashes. She had honored Wesley's name. Now, she would carry the fight to the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. She had no guide to this world any longer. She would now make this world _her _world.

_One week earlier_

_Rome_

Buffy and Jake arrived at the steps of her townhouse shortly after midnight. As she walked in she found Dawn, Andrew and Giles sitting around nervously. The three looked up and let out a collective sigh.

"Where the hell have you been? You had us worried sick!" immediately flew from Dawn's mouth.

Buffy gave her a cross look before moving aside and revealing the man that stood behind her. Dawn immediately looked stricken.

"Oh... uhh... I didn't... uhhh..."

"It's not like that Dawn. Everybody this is Jake. He helped me with a couple of vamps earlier tonight. Jake this is..."

"Dawn," was Jake's swift reply. His was stern eyes now seem to hold a bit of weariness in them. To a keen observer, one might call it despair.

"Why am I _not_ surprised that you knew that. I suppose you know both Andrew and Giles as well?"

Jake nodded solemnly, acknowledging the two sitting at the table. The two looked a little unnerved as they stared at him. He was sure one of them had a weapon on their body, and any false move would find that weapon drawn on him.

"Well, seeing that you know all about me and my friends, why don't you tell us a little about yourself? Starting with _how_ you know so much, then going to _why_ you know so much, and ending with the big fight you claim needs us."

Jake let out a long sigh and his eyes traveled around the room. He had so long to prepare this speech, but now the words seemed inadequate. He knew this was going to be hard, but he also knew that he was the only one who could do it. That's why they had chosen him. He was the final hope... the ace in the hole. He turned his attention back to Buffy, who now had Dawn and Giles on either side of her. Andrew still sat nervously at the table.

"I've been here before. In this very house, in this very room. I've spoken to you very people."

Giles slowly slid his glasses off.

"I don't seem to recall..."

"You wouldn't," Jake cut in. "Because it hasn't happened yet. I meet you four for the first time twenty-five years from today. That meeting turned out to be the beginning of the end of this world. I've been sent with a message from the Powers That Be. This is our last shot to stop what is to happen. You denied us before, I can't allow you to deny us again."


	3. Bonnie and Clyde

**A/N: These things seem to be comin' out pretty quick, I just can't back away from the keyboard. I appreciate any and all reviews. These first chapters may be a bit confusing, I'm still working out the story's kinks in my head. Right now, your guess is as good as mine. **

Wesley tore down the blood soaked alley, a pair of pistols breathing fire toward the great mass of demons before him. He hadn't been too late. He had gone to Vail's mansion, knowing that he was to die. Once again, Death failed to claim Wesley-Wyndam-Price. It was becoming a rather nasty trend. He unloaded the last of his two clips and simply tossed the pistols aside. From the burdensome sheath on his back, he un-holstered his 12 gauge pump. Bullets didn't work on vampires, but they decimated the demons that charged before him. Just beyond his intended targets, he could make out four figures, fighting back to back. He smiled. His friends had made it. He leveled his Winchester at the head of the last demon that stood blocking his path to his friends. With a smirk, he pulled the trigger and watched the demon's head explode into a flurry of blood and bits of bone. He strode forward and joined his friends, chucking the shotgun and extending the collapsible saber concealed beneath his jacket sleeve.

"Since when did _you _pick up on the dramatic entrances, English?" hollered Gunn, as removed his makeshift axe from the carcass of yet another demon.

"I couldn't let you have all the fun Charles," Wesley replied grinning.

He caught glimpse of Illyria, simply punching through the chest cavity of a demon that had no idea the power of the being he had attempted to battle. She locked eyes with him as her face twisted into a sort of sardonic smile. Wesley nodded.

"Illyria," was all he could remark.

"I am glad that you have survived Wesley. I believe that you will enjoy this." Illyria responded, a wild look forming in those cold blue eyes.

Wesley suddenly felt his stomach sink. What was she talking about? He looked on as he saw Illyria turn to Gunn. Wesley couldn't move fast enough. Everything seemed to slow down and his body refused to cooperate with what his mind wanted to do. He looked on in terror as Illyria strode over to Gunn, raised her fist, and proceeded to ram it completely through his face. The crunch was sickening. Gunn's lifeless body fell limp and pitched over to the ground. Wesley screamed, but so sound would escape his mouth. He couldn't breathe... he couldn't move. He was helpless. He watched in horror as Illyria's smile grew wider, her face more twisted and sadistic. He picked up the ax that was still clutched in Gunn's hand. With a smile she spun and brought the ax home across the back of Spike's neck. He never saw it coming. A cloud of ash exploded at the spot where the vampire once stood. Again, Wesley tried to scream... tried to run. But he was motionless. His mind raced franticly, trying to conjure up any incantation that would free his body. Dread flushed over him. He knew what was next. Angel's back was turned, still fending off the army that pressed around them. He hadn't even seen Illyria behead Gunn and dust Spike. With one last ghastly look, Illyria heaved the blade toward Angel's abdomen. The sheer force of the swing sliced the vampire in two, both halves of his body turning to dust before either could hit the ground. Wesley could not take it. He cried out in anguish, but no words would come. He suddenly felt disoriented and his sight began to darken. He looked down to his stomach and saw a gaping wound, blood flowing from it profusely. His lungs yearned for air, but he could not inhale. Suddenly, he was forced to his knees. He looked up and saw Illyria, a vicious smile beaming from ear to ear. He watched her, eyes mixed with both sorrow and rage. He heard a whisper, but he saw no movement across her face.

"In your name..." the voice rasped as wild-eyed Illyria raised her ax and began a slow, calculated march towards him. He pitched forward and all was black.

He awoke with a start. His body was racked to pain, and the simple task of trying to open his eyelids proved to be tiresome. He felt as if he was on fire, and yet at the same time, he could feel ice cold sweat dripping from his brow. He had to be in hell. The horrors he had seen were still burned into the back of his eyelids. He couldn't shake that sadistic smile. He knew that he was the reason Illyria was still alive. The blood of his friends was on his hands. The blood of the world was soon to follow.

"Shit Wes! You busted the stitching!" came a cry from across the room.

Now that didn't make sense. If he was dead, he would not need stitching. And why was Faith screaming at him? He felt her push his shirt up and cool feel the cool moisture off of the damn rag she was using to clean whatever wound he had reopened. What the hell was going on? With a low grunt he finally forced his eyes open. The room was dimly lit, which he was thankful for. He eyes ached terribly, and had he opened them in any kind of light he was sure he would be blinded for life. He tried to take in his surroundings as best he could. Wood paneled walls that were cracked in places, an old chest of drawers whose dark green paint had began to chip ages ago, and lamp with a shade adorned in scenes from what looked like a duck hunt, and a television set that was probably top of the line five years before he was born. Wesley had died and gone to the hell dimension of cheap hotels.

Faith worked gently around the large wound that was sloppily stitched along Wesley navel. She cleaned blood with a damp wash cloth from the bathroom. She hadn't dared use the rusted sink, settling instead of a bottle of water she had bought many miles back. She instinctively ripped a shred of cloth from her tank top and applied to where the stitching had busted. She placed his hand on top of the cloth, and then pressed down on it to slow the seeping blood. She was so thankful he was awake, but she knew they weren't out of the woods yet. Another sudden movement would bust the stitches further, and she was running out of tank top to patch her old Watcher up.

"Enough with the herk and jerk buddy. You bust anymore stitching, we'll be in a wicked tight squeeze."

His eyes met hers and he cracked a small smile. How this man had survived this long was beyond her. She was a Slayer, super-healing and all. Wesley wasn't. Yet he had a remarkable way of landing on his feet. Scratch that, he had remarkable way of using his own body as his landing pad.

"Faith," Wesley croaked out. "Where are we?"

She quickly broke the stare the two shared and turned away.

"Somewhere around El Paso," she replied quietly.

"El Paso! El Paso, Texas! Why the hell are we in El Paso bloody Texas!" was Wesley's response.

He attempted to sit up, but the pain radiating from his stomach told him it would be a stupid move. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Angel... Gunn... Hyperion... what... what happened Faith? What happened Faith? Why are we in El Paso and not Los Angeles?"

Faith didn't know how to respond. She had been waiting for what seemed like years for him to come back to consciousness. He had slipped in and out, but he was always steeped in a fever-induced hysteria. Now that he was awake, she had to explain to them why the two of them had trekked halfway across the country to wind up in a rent-by-hour motel.

"Wesley," she choked out. "Los Angeles is gone. I... I... I don't know about Angel or Gunn. I never saw them. It all happened so fast... I panicked. We had to get out of there Wes... I couldn't fight them all alone. I had to get us to safety..."

Faith's reply had turned into sobs. Wesley wished he could pull himself up and wrap her in his arms, for no other reason than to console her. But his body ached far too much for movement. He could feel the temperature in the room begin to rise. His vision was becoming blurry. If he didn't calm down, he would slip away again. He had to keep a level head. He had to figure out what was going... what had happened, and what the next move was. He shut his eyes and tried to relax. The nausea began to slowly subside. Eyes still shut, Wesley addressed Faith.

"Faith, you did the right thing. If the numbers were too great, retreat was the only option. But we have to know what happened, so that we may make our next move. Faith... what happened in Los Angeles?"

Faith, in the midst of drying her eyes, turn back to Wesley. His eyes were closed, but she knew he could sense the gravel in her voice.

"I've never seen anything like it Wes. One minute, we were checking you into the Emergency Room. The doc had started stitching up that wicked gash in your gut. Then the next thing I knew, there were demons everywhere. They were killing everything... even each other. I grabbed you and any pill bottles that were around and got the hell out. I've never seen that many demons Wes. By the time I got to the car, I knew we had to get out of LA. I drove as far and as fast I could... I'd look back and see nothing but carnage. It was like hell opened on Los Angeles."

Wes, trying to keep himself grounded in consciousness, let all that Faith said sink in. Demons fighting demons? That was nothing new. Blood feuds, prejudices, occasional thrills... demons fought demons all the time. But never on the scale that Faith described. To his knowledge, the demon population of Los Angeles wasn't even large enough for this kind of destruction. Then it dawned on him.

"Wolfram and Hart," Wesley muttered through clenched teeth. Faith's head turned slowly back towards him. His eyes met hers, and again he felt his stomach sink. No doubt the Sunnydale gang had informed her of Angel's decision to take over the evil law firm. For a second he thought he could see disgust flash across her eyes.

"You mean you and the Angel gang's little project," she replied with a bit of malice in her voice. "I don't think it was them, or you, or whatever... most of the bastards kept shouting a name... Ill... Iliad..."

"Illyria," Wesley replied.

"Bingo."

At that moment, everything around Wesley stopped and came crashing down. His mind shot back to the remnants he still had of his dream. Her face... the blood... oh God! Oh God! What had he done? He had brought Illyria into the fight. He was the one that had bloody well kept her alive! He thought he might find some spark of humanity... but that seemed all but lost now. What had he unleashed upon this world?

"You heard of her?" Faith asked, interrupting Wesley's train of thought. That was not a question he was willing to answer at this moment. Not truthfully anyway.

"Yes I have heard of her. And if what you say is true, we are in very grave danger."

"No sweat. We're a long way from LA now. We'll just get a hold of Giles and B and come up with a plan. Putting your two superbrains together, there's no way in hell we can lose." Faith remarked. As long as Wesley knew what he was fighting against, she'd trust him. They had both come along way in such a short time, but she knew deep down that this man wasn't simply a fighter. He was a survivor.

Wesley simply nodded at her solemnly. This is where it hit the proverbial fan. Giles had made himself perfectly clear the last time they had been in contact. Angel, Wesley, Gunn... they were all evil in his mind. This was something that _they_ had unleashed, and Wesley doubted very seriously that neither Giles nor Buffy would put their necks on the line for old times' sake. But he wasn't going to say anything to Faith. Not yet. He was going to need her for this fight. He knew the others were dead. He refused to believe it, but in the dark corners of his mind he knew. And he knew that he was responsible for it. He had gone off to die that night. All he wanted was peace. Instead, he had lived while countless others had perished because he refused to give up his lost love. He had grown so weary of trying to do the right thing and have it blow up in his face. He kept his eyes closed and clenched his teeth. The all too familiar taste at the back of his throat brought his rage full force to the front of his mind. He made himself a promise, before whatever God or gods or Powers or whatever there might be. He would right this wrong. He would find Illyria. And he would kill that bitch once and for all.

"How long has it been since we left Los Angeles, Faith?"

"Th-three days," Faith replied.

"Three days... I pray that it isn't too late. We need to rest now Faith. Tomorrow you can put that call into Giles after we take a visit to the local hospital. If we're going to fight, I'm not going to be able to do it lying on my back."

He looked on as Faith nodded.

"And Faith? Thank you."

That statement took Faith a little by surprise. She had expected any number of reactions from the ex-Watcher. Just not that one. She turned back to face him, but when she did he was already asleep.

"Crazy bastard," she muttered to herself before laying back and dozing off herself.

Illyria looked on smugly. Her war was far from over. The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart commanded many legions, and more and more seemed to be pouring in. But her numbers were growing as well. Her name was still one that struck fear into their hearts. Soon she would herself face the trio of beings who used to hide from her sight. She would destroy the three and then reclaim this world as her own. Walking down a lonely desolate street, she took in the sight which spread before her. Bodies were strewn to and fro. Chaos and destruction had taken hold in this collection of human dwellings. She enjoyed its refreshing sight. She decided then that this was where her throne would be exalted. She would rise above all, atop her temple built on the bones and ash of those who had dared to trifle with her. Her time had been millennia in the making. And now, her time was at hand.


	4. Beginnings and Endings

Giles slowly placed his glasses on as the cogs in his brain began to turn. Jake knew that this was not something that the Watcher was going to be able to process quite as easily as he made it look. His eyes traveled to Buffy, who still stared ahead, her eyes sizing this man from the future up. He thought she would be uneasy, maybe even shocked. If she was, her emotions were not going to tell on her. Dawn had taken a step back and to the side. Almost hiding directly behind her sister. Jake's heart broke when saw her for the first time. This poor girl had no idea what the future held for her if he failed. The Powers had sent him back to bring the Slayer and her friends into this war, but Jake had promised himself that he was not going to fail Dawn again. If nothing else, he would protect her from the days that lie ahead.

"By from the future, you mean... Marty McFly, eighty-eight miles an hour in the Delorian, future?"

Jake looked up and had to allow himself to smile. Andrew, who had been sitting nervously at the table a moment before, was the first to speak. He had slowly gotten up and had been taking small steps to join the others. This was not the Andrew that Jake had met so many years later. He was boyish and timid, not the hardened man that had followed him into battle. In his own time, Jake had held somewhat of a respect for Andrew. He hadn't denied his calling when the time came. He entered into the war willingly, with his own detachment of Slayers. He had fallen like all the others. He was a hero in a time that was not allowed to celebrate heroes. However, Jake doubted this Andrew would be willing to follow in those footsteps. By the looks of him, he was not the warrior Jake had known. Not yet.

"Uh... sure, something like that." was Jake's response.

"Something in the back of my mind says 'Don't trust you'. Any reason why I shouldn't listen to... me?"

There was the biting response he had been waiting for. Jake knew that Buffy had seen things no person her age should have ever seen. Vampires, demons, hell gods, apocalypses... she had eyed them all. But time travel was still a stretch for her. He didn't have any proof of where he came from. The Powers must have thought that it would be too simple to convince her with _proof_. She would have to trust him.

"I don't have any proof, Buffy. It doesn't really work that way. You'll have to trust me on this one." Jake stared back into her eyes. "Please."

"Why don't you tell us more about this war," Giles spoke up. "And why these... Powers... felt the need to, ahem, send you back in time to have us fight in it."

There was the Giles that Jake knew. The scholar always plugging away for information. But even Giles wasn't ready for this bit of news.

"I will. But not right now."

"Excuse me? Oh, I think right now would be a perfect time to cut to the chase."

Buffy had taken a step forward. No doubt she thought that this was a set up. A very clever and calculating set up, but a set up nonetheless.

"I wish I could. But you're a couple folks shy at the moment. Besides, traveling back in time and then wandering the streets of Rome for four hours kinda takes the hitch out of yer giddy-up, if you know what I mean."

By the looks Jake was receiving, they didn't. He sighed.

"I'm tired."

Buffy's eyes widened.

"So, what? You think that I'm going to let you, a complete stranger... no wait, a complete stranger _from the future_, park his horse and sleep under the same room as me and my family?"

That last remark had a bit of a sarcastic laugh to the end.

"Well... yeah. I mean, if you don't trust me, I can always head back out to the streets. But if you're right, that means you just turned me loose to do God knows what."

Buffy took another step forward. Jake stood his ground. If she wouldn't trust him, then she wouldn't be able to let him walk out that door. She might not be the only Slayer in the world, but she was probably the most cautious.

"I believe he's right Buffy. If he is a demon or a... time traveling demon, we can't risk him walking the streets killing people. However, if he is to stay, then we can monitor him and ensure no one gets hurt."

Jake's eyes shot to the Watcher. So did Buffy's. She had a pained expression on her face. Her Watcher, the man with the biggest brain she'd ever known, was actually going to let this _thing_ stay with them? She searched Giles face, and found that there wasn't going to be any point in arguing the matter. The Brit's mind was made up.

"Fine. But _you_ keep an eye on him Giles." She turned back towards Jake, taking one more step towards him. She was now merely inches away from him. "And as for you, if _one_ little thing happens tonight, I will kill you. Tomorrow, you spill your guts. Or I'll do it for you."

With that, she spun back around, her blonde hair flying out behind her. She strode to the hallway and up the stairs.

"Always with the dramatic exit," Jake muttered. Giles eyed him suspiciously.

"Giles, I know you want answers, but I can't give 'em just yet. You've all got to be here. The witch, the Slayer general, even the pirate. Nothing will change if you're not in this together."

Giles let out a long overdue breath.

"Willow and Kennedy are both in South Africa and Xander has probably burned by beloved England to the ground. I'll contact them tonight. I'm sure Willow can get them here when we need them. However, Faith is in..."

Giles abruptly stopped when he heard Jake's sharp intake of breath. The Watcher looked toward the man standing in front of the door. What he saw was a surprise. The look in that man's eyes was one of sorrow. Giles could even see a tear begin to swell in the corner of the man's eye.

"Jake..."

"No," he answered abruptly. "We don't need Faith. The Powers have given her her own mission. She'll be there in the end. Right now, all I need is your contingent."

Giles nodded solemnly.

"Well then, I imagine someone who has traveled as much as you have would not mind sleeping on the sofa?"

Jake smiled, the moment of anguish passing.

"Not at all."

Jake began to move towards the sofa, when he stopped abruptly. He turned to see Giles, only a few steps behind, following him.

No doubt he was going to keep an eye on him for the night.

"Giles," Jake said extending his hand. Warily, Giles took it in a firm shake. "It's damn good to see you again."

Jake broke the shake as Giles nodded. The two men moved to the living room as Jake lay back onto the sofa. It had been so long since he had a peaceful night's sleep.

* * *

_Five years later_

_Los Angeles_

Illyria stood amongst the rubble that had once been the Wolfram and Hart building. She looked around, taking in the destruction and chaos that had once been beautiful Los Angeles. There were no skyscrapers or bright lights left anymore. The only thing that painted the sky now was the fire and smoke that seemed to seep out of the Earth itself. Behind her, a countless mass of demons stood in battle formation. Five years of destruction had led her to this moment. The disgusting speck of humanity that once inhabited the metropolis had been wiped clean. She knew that the humans had mobilized a large force surrounding the dead city. But she was not concerned with them. In five years they had done little to penetrate her new capital. They cowered in fear at the legions she led. But she was not interested in destroying them yet. There time would soon come, but she had a bigger battle to wage on this night. She turned back to the rubble and eyed the three beings that stood before her.

"Your time has ended!" Illyria boomed. The massive demon army behind her roared in approval.

"Fool!" shouted the being to the left. It was a large being, almost seven feet tall. Its body was hidden beneath a crimson robe, but its ram-like head was clearly visible.

"You have no power here Old One. You were cast into the Deeper Well because your reign was to end. And now look at you? The mighty Illyria, shelled within the corpse of a human. The vampire stripped you of your power long ago. What makes you think that we cannot destroy you without lifting a finger?"

This time it was the figure in the middle that had spoken. It had the same daunting size of the first being, but its lips were curled back baring its teeth. Illyria smiled.

"No, you are the fool Wolf! For five years my armies have marched atop the carcasses of your feeble allies. Yet all you do is send more lambs to slaughter. It is you that have no power! You are weak in this dimension. That is why you hide behind demons and humans in this world. You use them to carry out your plans, because you cannot carry them yourselves! You have taken hold of this world since my demise, yet you could not purge it of humanity. You could not defeat the vampire or his band of humans, even while you had them trapped in a box of your own design. Your Circle has fallen; your armies have been destroyed. The demons you bring forth no longer follow your lead. They follow mine!"

With that, the Wolf let loose a guttural howl.

"Then let it begin!"

Without warning, the third being, with the head of a Hart, leapt forward. From beneath his robe he extended a long scythe. He swiped at Illyria, who easily dodged.

"You fight with the weapons of this world? How far have you fallen Hart?"

Without warning Illyria's army roared and charged into the rubble. Illyria smiled as she looked into the deep black eyes of the Hart. She could see its terror. The being managed one last swipe at the god-king before it disappeared under a wave of blackness.

"Bring me the heads of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart! They will be mounted atop my temple, so that all may see the consequence of crossing Illyria!"

The army continued to envelop the scene in blackness. Millions upon millions of demons flooded the ground where the three beings had stood. Powerless in this dimension, they stood no chance. Illyria simply stood, admiring the scene. For five years she had decimated their armies. Now, when they had finally shown themselves, their own demons had destroyed them. The humans that had mounted just beyond the horizon would soon feel her wrath. Their machines of death were great, but in the end, they were operated by humans and all humans were weak. She would soon bury their small army beneath her step. There was to be a new order in this world. And it would bow before her all-powerful fist.


	5. Revelations

**A/N: I appreciate all the reviews I've received so far. Here's the latest installment. I didn't intend to make this story so long, but I think the telling of a story is in the details. Continue to read and review, we've got along way til we're home.**

* * *

_Ten days after the alley_

_El Paso, Texas_

Wesley struggled as his eyes slowly opened. He let out a defeated sigh as they began to adjust to the shadows around him. He heard the familiar 'ping' of his heart monitor, and knew that he was still alive and still stuck in a hospital in bloody El Paso. His eyes began to wearily travel about the room. His blinds were almost completely closed, allowing only small slivers of sunlight to dance along the awful industrial white walls. He silently cursed the light. He wanted darkness. He _deserved_ darkness. There was nothing left for the light to shine upon in his world. And soon, there would be nothing in _the _world for the sun to illuminate. He glanced down and began to inspect the multiple tubes running out of his right arm.

The nightmares had yet to cease. On more than one occasion, he had ripped the tubes from his body while fighting in that alley as he slept. Sometimes, he won. He had unloaded his last round on Illyria just as she turned to flash that haunting smile. But, more often than not, he failed. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was now failing in his own dreams. He was always a second too slow. His impeccable aim off by mere inches. One time, it hadn't been Illyria at all. It had been Fred, grinning ear to ear like a deranged school girl as she buried a stake through Angel's back. That had been the worse. He had snapped awake to find blood oozing from puncture holes where his IV's had been. His mind had quickly seized, and he began thrashing around wildly. It had taken almost five orderlies to hold him down to simply strap him back into his bed. The last thing he had remembered was the large syringe of sedatives being jabbed into his arm before he faded off. He now made it a routine to check the tubes regularly. He was running out of veins for new ones.

The doctors had told him he was suffering from both hysteria and post-traumatic stress. He had yet to ask Faith what exactly she had told them when he was admitted. He doubted that they would believe that he had been stabbed by a mind controlling sorcerer and that he had inadvertently jump started Armageddon. No matter. Wesley had spent more time in hospitals than anyone he knew. He had come to the conclusion that most doctors were fools. They had brought him back from death so many times, only for him to repay them by unleashing Hell on earth. They had told him that his gaping wound had been severely infected, that the infection was causing his hallucinations. He was told he was lucky. Twenty-four more hours and he would have been dead. They told him he would never be the same again. There had been too much damage and too much time wasted. They told him he would recover somewhat, but that the pain would never completely cease. Walking would be a task in and of itself he was told. Wesley had to smile. These men, with their fancy degrees and years of expertise, knew nothing of pain. But Wesley did. It kept him anchored in this reality.

Wesley's vision continued to wander until his eyes became fixed on the figure curled into a ball against the far wall. The poor girl. Wesley lashed himself silently. Here he was waking up hoping to die. He had rarely thanked Faith for saving his life. For getting him out of Los Angeles before everything fell apart. _She_ had kept him alive, not luck. But things had spiraled downward since she had carried him from Vail's mansion and then halfway across the continent. He had told her the entire story a few hours after he had been hospitalized. He blamed the morphine that fogged his mind. She had simply stared at him, showing no signs of emotion. Finally, she had simply held his hand and gave it a small squeeze. She told him that things would be different. Giles and Buffy would come to help and that they would stop Illyria together. For one brief instance, he actually believed her. He marveled at how far she had truly come. She had fought her way back to the light, and now she was basking in its redemption. Ironic that he was fading from it. She seemed so sure of herself, so sure of how this was just another battle. Then she called.

He had heard her sobs as she entered into his room. The bright eyes were replaced with swollen eyelids and bloodshot. His heart sank when he took in her sight. He knew that she had called Giles and he knew the answer. The elder Watcher was furious, and rightly so. Martial law had been declared in Los Angeles, and the few survivors that escaped were making raving claims of alien invasions. The media quickly blacked out anything pertaining to the once bustling city. Giles angrily refused to help in any way. Angel had started this when he took over for Wolfram and Hart. Giles cared little for his motives, claiming that he had been corrupted in his short stint as CEO. He cursed Wesley for following blindly into such a pitfall. He made it clear that this was _their_ mess to clean up. The Slayer army would not be drawn into this war. Besides, the military had been called in, and he would not risk the secret of the Slayer to men who were obsessed with warfare. All that Wesley had expected. What he hadn't expected was that Giles would force Faith to choose a side. He had made it perfectly clear. Return to Cleveland and her duties or remain with Wesley and be forever cut off from her new family. She had chosen Wesley. He didn't think he would ever be able to thank her in full for that decision. She would shrug off in typical Faith-fashion anyway. He could almost hear her claim that she was tired of being bossed about, tired of playing second fiddle, tired of being ordered around from across the ocean.

His eyes began to shut again slowly as he felt the sedatives crawling up his spine slowly. He took the sight of Faith in completely. It was just the two of them now. He had to get out of this bed soon. They weren't doing anybody any favors by setting idly. He knew that Illyria go after the Senior Partners. She craved their power. He also knew that she would be hard pressed to expand past the perimeter the military had set up around the city. He knew first hand how devastating live ammunition was to demons. But he knew that eventually, she would push forward. It was her nature. Faith and Wesley would have to head her off before she advanced. Before she spread throughout the world, destroying it much the way she had destroyed Fred.

* * *

_Six days prior to the alley_

_Rome_

Jake began to stir slowly. It had been so long since he had rested peacefully, and he desperately wanted to remain asleep. At peace. But that was not the lot he had been cast. He groggily opened his eyes and was immediately met by with a crossbow leveled directly at him. He didn't have to look past it to know that it was undoubtedly loaded, and just whose finger was on the trigger.

"In the future, you're not nearly this inhospitable," he remarked dryly.

"Well you know what they say, no time like the present."

The blonde at the other end of the crossbow slowly lowered her weapon and stepped back. She had no inhibitions about pulling the trigger. But Giles had convinced her that they had to at least hear this 'time traveler' out. Besides, he had kinda saved her life.

"I think you owe us some answers," she quipped.

Jake pulled himself to a sitting position. He grinned.

"Can't a fella get a hot shower and some grub before his execution."

Buffy didn't laugh at the comment. She didn't even crack a smile.

"I think you've pushed my goodwill to its limit. Everyone is here and we're waiting to hear our roles in this grand war you've been spouting about."

Jake didn't allow the shock to show.

"Here? Now? But I thought South Africa and..."

"Teleportation," Buffy cut in. "Comes in handy in cases of emergencies. And I do hope this is an emergency."

With that, she simply turned and walked through the large door into the dining room. This was it. The moment Jake had been dreading for what seemed like an eternity. They were all assembled and in room. He had never seen them all together at the same moment in his time. Bonds had no doubt been stretched or severed as the years had worn on. In his day, the Slayer army had been broken following the falling out between Buffy and Kennedy. The Sunnydale Brigade, as they were known in his time, was spread throughout the world. Divided, they had fallen one by one to Illyria. But the Powers knew that united they could stop Illyria before she became too powerful. That was his mission. Grudgingly, Jake stood and placed his tattered hat atop his head. He strode through the door and prepared to convince these people that there were some things even they could not comprehend.

An hour later and Jake had merely uncovered the tip of the iceberg. He had hoped to take it slow, but this was ridiculous. He was constantly interrupted by bickering amongst the group. He had no idea the strain dated back this far. He had revealed that and Old One, Illyria, had been resurrected in human form. That her powers had been curbed, but that when the moment came, she lead the assault on the world. He swallowed hard when he admitted that the resurrection had taken place in Los Angeles... at Wolfram and Hart. How it had infected Winifred Burkle... and how Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had tried everything to curb its power and provide it with a link to humanity. Giles, who been usually quiet, suddenly burst into an uproar.

"That bloody fool," he bellowed. "Who does he think he is? You cannot simply try and convert and Old One to humanity! They ruled over beings of power that no human can possibly comprehend. I should have known Angel and his band of bloody fools were responsible for this."

The group, who had spent the better part of the hour arguing amongst themselves on an attack plan, was shocked into silence by the normally calm Brit's explosion. Jake was not. The Giles he knew had become surly in his old age, and was not a man that was easy to commence in conversation.

"Mr. Giles, I wouldn't put the fault on Mr. Pryce's head. There was no way he could have..."

"Nonsense!" Giles cut in. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has been nothing short of a common foot soldier since his graduation from the Academy. When he quit taking orders from the Council, he instead took orders from Angel. How any man of intellect can simply follow orders the way Wesley can is simply unnerving!"

"Again Mr. Giles, I wouldn't..."

"The arrogance! Trying to convert an Old One! He should have destroyed it while he had the chance the bloody twit! Of all the people who could bring about the Apocalypse, it has to be clumsy, bumbling, coward..."

What Buffy saw next was simply a blur. One moment, Giles had been fuming over the revelation of Illyria, the next he was backed against the wall, pinned by Jake's left arm and that large Bowie knife pressed to his throat. Buffy had never seen someone move that fast, not even the Slayer. Like the rest of group, she was too shocked by the display to cut Jake off. She quickly got her bearings and reached for the crossbow on the table.

Giles was stunned to find himself in this predicament. He could feel the blade resting on his neck. The arm that had him pinned to the wall was unbelievably strong. He couldn't move if he had wanted to. Besides, if he did, he was sure that the large blade at his neck would be his demise. He looked into the eyes at the man who had suddenly attacked him. Those soft blue eyes had faded, replaced with a piercing shade of metallic. Giles could see the anguish and sorrow in them. Those eyes caused a shiver to creep up his spine. It was a look of both fear and rage. This man, who had been so calm... nearly docile, in his short stay was now out of control. He only hoped someone had something sharp pointed at this man's back.

"What are..." Giles whispered hoarsely.

"I'd bite my tongue if I were you Englishman," Jake rasped. "I _don't_ take kindly to you accusing people of cowardice. Especially when you accuse my _father._"


	6. First of the Last Hurrahs

Jake could not explain what had just happened. He had always been told he had a short-temper. But he had never pulled a weapon on a human before. He knew he couldn't kill the man he had pinned against the wall. That's not what he was here for. He cursed himself silently. This was not the way things needed to go. It was going to be hard enough to convince these people to join the fray, now that burden would be doubled because he was only a moment away from killing the man that they all looked to for guidance. But this was not the Giles that Jake had known. The man he knew had never uttered a harsh wordconcerning Jake's father. But this was not the Giles he knew. Jake tried to regain his composure. He could hear the slight movement behind him. If he didn't do something quick, the entire trip would be worth nothing.

"Don't bother with the crossbow Slayer. I'm not gonna kill him. That ain't what I'm after."

The voice that had come out had been low, almost a growl. With one fluid motion, Jake removed the blade, twirled it once around his finger, then sheathed it. He spun away from the wall and back towards the others, one hand on the pistol holstered behind his back. He knew better than to show more signs of violence, but he was driving on pure instinct now. It was a trait that had kept him alive longer than most.

As it turned out, Buffy had barely even reached for the weapon on the table when Jake spun back around to face her. The revelation about his father had halted her in her tracks. Jake eyed her wearily, then shuffled a few steps to the side, pulling his hand from behind his back slowly then raising it front of him. Buffy immediately leapt Giles' side as soon as Jake was out of the way. He was alive, but a small trail of crimson ran from his neck, soaking into his shirt collar. The razor sharp blade had nicked him, but he would survive. Surprisingly, Giles was the first to speak.

"Fa-father?" Giles inquired roughly, hand trying to wipe the trail of blood from his neck. Jake let out a sigh. Everything was out in the open now.

"Father," was Jake's short response.

Giles slowly rose to his feet, leaning on Buffy's shoulder for support. He wasn't injured, but he felt like his hearthad shut down and then restarted all in an instant. He needed to breath, but for some reason, air seemed in short supply. Buffy slowly walked him back towards the table as Giles retook his seat. Buffy stood to his side unarmed. She looked to the table and saw the crossbow that was still sitting just a few feet away. There was no way she could reach it without the intruder reacting. She cursed herself for the oversight. Now they were at his mercy.

"Okay. So you're a time-traveler who was sent back in time to enlist our help in stopping an all-powerful god. You're also Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's son. So, the question I've got is how and more importantly, with whom?"

Jake turned to the figure at the opposite end of the table. Xander Harris was always known for his quick wit, even in the future. Somehow, Jake didn't sense any sarcasm dripping from that last statement. It was a pity too. The two men had shared quite a few laughs in the years ahead.

"Well, the how is pretty common. Same way you and everbody else is born. With whom is a different matter. My name is Jacob Wyndam-Pryce. I was born on June 2nd, 2006 in Odessa, Texas to Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and... Faith LaHayne."

Now he had everyone's undivided attention. He traced around the table with his eyes. Each person was gawking in contemplation in his direction. Jake himself was almost at a loss for words. They all seemed so stunned and all he had told them was his own birth. How would they react when he told them of their death?

"Wh-why did you not inform us of this upon your arrival?"

Jake looked Giles' way. The Watcher's stare had never left. Jake could only imagine the mix of surprise and absolute hatred that was clouding the man's mind.

"Well, for starters, I don't reckon the details of my birth certificate are that important in the grand scheme of things. Secondly, you know my... family, and you wouldn't have believed a Southern accent from a British lineage. Lastly... it's really none of your damned business who my parents are... I mean were. Besides, I didn't come here to tell you my life story. I came to tell all you... _yours_."

"Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say, 'you first'," Buffy responded. Jake simply stared ahead. This was a waste of time, and time was not something they had a great deal of. But if it would keep them here so he could tell them the rest of the story, well, it was just something that had to be done.

"Fine," he replied. "I've already told you who my parents were. They were never married, they saw know need of a ceremony when life itself was about to be snuffed out. They raised me to the age of seven in Odessa. They figured it was safer there for me. Pop never really recovered from the wounds he received the night Illyria turned. He still tried to fight, but he was always vulnerable. It was at seven that they sent me to live with a familyon a small farmjust south of San Antonio..."

* * *

_July 2, 2013_

_Nine years following the alley_

_Pearsall, Texas_

Wesley pulled the late nineties model Chevy onto I-35 and headed back north towards San Antonio. He was vehemently against grand theft auto, but as Faith had once told him, "you can't teach an ol' gal new tricks". Secretly, he was grateful she had 'acquired' the vehicle a few years back. The old station wagon that had provided their getaway across the country had broken down several times during their extended stay in west Texas. He had scolded her when she pulled into their small trailer house with the vehicle, but deep down he smiled. She never ceased to amaze him. Of course, he would never tell her that. He didn't need anything else held over his head. He gazed out at the passing mile markers. His whole chain of thought was avoiding the real issue. The issue that they had left behind on the small farm just west of Pearsall, Texas.

Faith was unusually quiet. Wesley continuously glanced her direction simply to make sure she was not asleep. She never was. Her head was always gazing out the passenger window, no doubt staring blankly into the rearview mirror.

"He'll be fine, luv," Wesley simply stated. "Roger and Trish Burkle are two of the finest people I've ever met, and I know for a fact that they are experts at raising children."

Wesley's mind wandered back to the handshake he shared with Roger... to the last hug he had cherished with his son. His heart broke just as Faith's had. Under other circumstances, he would never think to leave his own flesh and blood with a new family. But these were special circumstances. He refused to risk his son's life, and that's exactly what he would do if he was brought along. Where Wesley and Faith was going, nothing short of death awaited.

"I know he will Wes. That doesn't mean I have to like it. I mean... what if he forgets us? What if we don't make it back? What if... what if we can't stop it and we've left him there just to die..."

Wesley laid his calloused hand on Faith's shoulder. It was only thing he could do to calm her. Wesley had thought about everything Faith had just said, and he had thought about it everyday for the past seven years. But Wesley knew the farther from the front lines his son was, the safer he would be. And you didn't get much farther than Pearsall, Texas and they didn't come much more trustworthy than the Burkles.

"Did you put in one last call to Giles?" Wesley asked.

Faith nodded her head, but didn't speak. Wesley could feel the waves of contempt radiating from her. They had only contacted Giles twice since that day in the hospital so long ago. Once was to inform him of the birth of Jacob. The only positive from that conversation was that Giles didn't hang up as soon as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. The second was two days ago when they informed him of their decision to leave Jacob with 'friends' and head towards California and try and stop Illyria once and for all. They had asked one more time for help. Giles had hung up that time. The stubborn old Watcher was not willing to bring his charges to the war, even after the destruction the world was bearing witness to. However, they were not alone. The rift that had formed between the former potential, Kennedy, and Buffy gave Wesley and Faith a small glimmer of hope. Both Willow and Kennedy, along with their sizable Slayer army had thrown their hat into the ring. They wouldn't meet Wesley and Faith in California. Wesley did not want to risk anyone else's life. However, they would be the second front if Wesley failed. He prayed that he would not.

"Well then... shall we go save the world?" Wesley quipped as he pulled onto I-10 and began the trek towards what was once Los Angeles. It was not going to be easy. Illyria had pushed outward past the outskirts of Los Angeles. The military couldn't stop the rolling wave of demons that poured into the desert forever. Wesley just wanted one face to face with Illyria. It owed him that. One face to face... one shot. Right between the eyes.

Faith turned and flashed what could only be described as a shell of a smile. She placed her hand in his and squeezed, much the same way she had in that hospital so long ago. Wesley returned the smile and then turned back to the road.

"God help us," he whispered. "Protect him first, then... help us all."

* * *

Jake's story abruptly came to a halt. He had never told the story of his parents' fateful journey. Hell, he hadn't known the details of it until the Powers had provided him with them. The emotions swirling around were just too damn overbearing. He wiped a small tear from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat.

"That's the last anyone saw of my mother and father. Theyno doubt made it to Los Angeles, but Pop was weak and... and... well, I'm sure they went down fighting. From that day on, Roger and Trish Burkle raised me until I turned seventeen. I left the farm in Pearsall and joined the newly formed Army of the Interior. It was through the AOI that I would eventually meet all of you, though it was all separately. You were no longer a group... and that's what you'll have to be to win this war."

The group seated at the table simply stared ahead blankly. They had all known either Wesley or Faith at one point or another. To hear the tale of their life and subsequent death was just numbing. Giles looked terribly grief stricken. Of course, he had just discovered that his stubbornness had caused two people to lose their life and a son to be orphaned. It was all just too much.

"Jacob... I-I'm at a loss for-for words. I..."

"It's okay Mr. Giles. You had no way of knowing. It's me who should apologize. It's just... I've never told anyone and I lost control. I'm real sorry. But if you will join me, we can rewrite what can happen. We can finish the job that they couldn't."

Giles didn't respond. He wished to, but he just couldn't find the words. Jake's eyes traveled to Buffy. The blonde had taken a seat behind Giles, and while she looked emotionally moved by his story, the look in her eye was still one of uncertainty.

"If you're still not convinced... allow me to finish my story. Like I said, I've met every one of you in the future. You're all great warriors and tougher 'n an ol' boot. It was an honor to have fought beside most of ya.But I've also buried _all_ of you, I can't do that again. The _world_ can't do that again."


	7. Of Epitaphs and Condolences

Jake slowly glanced around the room. All eyes were upon him, waiting to hear the story he had traveled twenty-five years back in time to tell. This was it. Jake really wished that he had been a car salesman in his past life... or well, future life.

"Alexander Harris was the first of you I was given the privilege to meet. Shortly after the call to fight, you joined up with the AOI. They didn't seem to care about your, ahem, disability. They were lookin' for anybody ornery enough to fight."

Xander smiled a bit at that comment. For so long he had simply been 'the guy' of the group. He didn't have any special powers. Couldn't conjure up powerful magicks. Didn't have the Watcher brain. Sure he had always helped. He had even saved the world once, all by himself. But it was hard being common when in the company of the uncommon. Plus, he didn't mind being G.I. Joe either.

"You were in command of a small force. Basically, anyone that had prior dealing with the supernatural got command. You knew my father. We got along pretty good you and me. Fought a lot of battles. Shared a lot of laughs. I met both Kennedy and Willow through you. They picked up the fighting after... after my parents' deaths. None of you three ever spoke of the rift with Buffy. I always assumed that she was simply tired of the fight."

The atmosphere was tense. Buffy and Giles both continued to stare at the floor. No doubt they could feel the eyes staring at them. Buffy had never been one to turn her back on the greater good. Truth was, Jake was right. She had begun to tire of fighting, even now. She simply wanted to spend time with Dawn and to enjoy herself.

"Willow was strong. But Kennedy was always her link. Kennedy fell somewhere in Colorado. Illyria's forces had simply overwhelmed her. They decimated everything. Both the Slayer force and our own. When Willow got the news... you... you simply shut down."

Willow clenched Kennedy's hand tighter. The mere thought of losing her chilled her spine. The idea of veiny Willow unleashed on the world caused a trace of bile to seep up the back of her throat.

"Xander and I... w-we found you. You were so peaceful... I-I... I always thought that it was too much for you to bear. We buried you outside of Cleveland. We got to Rome as soon as we could. We thought we could bring the rest of the Slayers into the fight..."

A single tear slowly traced its way down Willow's cheek. It wasn't easy knowing how you would die, knowing that nothing but heartbreak awaited her. She couldn't bear to see this future come to pass. Gripping Kennedy's hand for support, she vowed to herself that she would fight. Dying didn't particularly scare her, but the thought of living without Kennedy terrified her.

"I met Buffy, Dawn, and Giles as soon as we arrived. Xander talked for hours about the ol' days, said he knew you'd come with us. But you refused. You wouldn't risk Dawn. You told us that you had turned your Slayers over to Andrew. That he was the one in charge... that all you wanted was peace. I flew to London to speak with him. Xander stayed behind protect the three of you..."

* * *

_Twenty Five Years Later_

_Rome_

Xander unholstered the automatic pistol by his side, and slowly began to creep into the abandoned warehouse. Buffy had told him that there was a large vampire nest nearby, but Xander wagered that they were demons instead. Illyria, in an ironic twist, had not only been mowing under humanity. It was single handedly trying to wipe out the entire vampire race. Giles had told him it was out of contempt, that it despised the race because of Angelus. Xander knew that what few vampires were left, many were hiding in the farthest corners of the world, trying to avoid both Illyria and its army. Some were brave enough to try and fight, most took to hiding, and all of them met their end when discovered.

Pistol raised, Xander turned the corner and felt his stomach twist into knots at the sight before him. Across the dirt-covered concrete, only a few yards away stood Illyria. The all-powerful Old One who was bent on destroying the world was surrounded by a group of a dozen menacing looking demons. What the hell was she doing in Rome? Her armies hadn't even reached the Eastern Seaboard... so what the hell was going on? Xander pushed his thoughts aside. There was no time for answers. Not when he could end the entire war with one shot. Steadily, he raised the pistol, bringing Illyria's head directly into view behind the sight. He held his breath for a split second, finger easing the trigger back. The shot never fired. Milliseconds away from saving the world, Alexander Harris was clubbed from behind by a small, troll-ish demon. He felt the pain for a second and faded into the darkness, the chance of billions fading with him.

Buffy slowly trudged her way into the kitchen to answer the ringing telephone. No one ever called her anymore, so this was indeed a surprise. Not that she didn't mind of course. She thoroughly enjoyed her peace and quiet. She had seen enough carnage and death to last two lifetimes.

"Hello?" she questioned into the receiver.

"Buffy... help... Illyr... Dawn..." the static filled conversation was cut short as the phone line disconnected.

Immediately, Buffy's Slayer sense kicked into overdrive. She recognized the voice on the other line. It was Xander's. She had simply asked him to investigate the vampire nest she had heard rumors of. What had he gotten into _this_ time? More importantly, what had he said about Dawn? Was she in trouble? Impossible. She was on her way over to the house. She was nowhere near the site of the nest. She instinctively reached for the Scythe, and headed for the door.

"Giles," she yelled as she began to turn the knob. "I'm going out to help Xander. Dawn will be over in about twenty minutes. Keep her company til I get back."

With that, she walked out the door and onto the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day, like most in Rome were. Scythe hidden inside her jacket, she began the twelve block walk towards the warehouse. She could have driven, but she really wanted to enjoy the weather. Besides, Xander could handle himself in a pinch. He was the super-military guy now.

Buffy reached the warehouse entrance and found it disturbingly quiet. This was not a good sign. Removing the Scythe from her jacket and raising itinto a defensive position, she slowly retraced Xander's footsteps. Something was definitely off. There was no smell of ash and sulfur that normally accompanied vampire dustings. There was no sign of blood from recent feedings. Hell, there wasn't even the _sound_ of a fight. She carefully tip toed around the corner and was stopped in her tracks. There, at her feet, was the bloodied and beaten body of Xander Harris. There was a large pool of blood surrounding his body, and she noticed that his pistol was still cocked, tightly gripped in his hand. Panicking, she reached down to take his pulse. She was searching for any signs of life. There were none. Sobbing, she pulled his lifeless body to her breast. It never ended. Almost fifty years of life, overshadowed by the endlessdemise of those she held dear. She and Xander had grown apart over the years, but the bond they shared was always there. Trying to pull herself together, she looked to the wall she knelt in front of. Her breathing stopped suddenly, and a mixture of fear and hopelessness overtook her.

There on the wall, haphazardly painted in the crimson hue of Xander's blood was a word. It was the one word Buffy had not feared in years.

"KEY".

Bolting from her prone position, she raced out of the warehouse, Scythe in hand. She had to get back to the house.

* * *

Running dangerously low on breath, Buffy leapt up the small staircase and burst through the front door of the townhouse. Scythe raised, she prepared to kill whoever or whatever was after Dawn. It was the last concentrated thought she would ever experience. There, on the ground in the living room was the body of Rupert Giles. She knew she would not have to check for his pulse, there was too much blood soaking into the fine Italian rug his body rested on. Trembling, trying to grasp on to anything to center her thoughts, her eyes traveled to the wall. There, stroked in blood like before was another word.

"DEATH".

Buffy's mind shut down. She sank to her knees, grip loosening on the Scythe as she descended, finally simply dropping it in front of her. She simply stared in oblivion, slowly lying back. She tried to regain her focus, tried to coax her mind from hiding. It was no use. She simply lay there, refusing to get up, shut her eyes and fell into the sea of darkness that awaited her.

* * *

"That was the end," Jake finished slowly. His voice was raw from emotion and his hardened cheeks were moist from tears. He couldn't bring himself to look at either Buffy or Dawn.

"Andrew and I returned to Rome as soon as we heard. But you were already gone. You wouldn't eat, you wouldn't drink, you wouldn't respond to anything. It was like you were in a coma but awake at the same time. Andrew and I took charge of what was left of the Slayer force and went back to the States. It was no use. Illyria... it... it... it killed Dawn... brutally... and it flung open dimensional gates throughout the world. There was no hope. We tried... but weren't enough. The world simply died."

Jake, heart heavy and mind aching, turned his gaze back towards the group seated at the table. Everyone's attention was directed to the floor. Buffy was clutching a sobbing Dawn beneath her arm, almost as if she was afraid she might disappear at that very instant. Willow and Kennedy were still holding hands, grip so tight that Jake could see the white of their knuckles. Giles, Xander, and Andrew simply sat. Jake was still standing. He was looking for any response. Suddenly, Buffy's head shot up. She locked eyes with Jake's. Jake could feel the sadness and anger that swirled those pools of green. His heart broke for the poor girl, but at the same time, he knew she had to know the truth. It was the only way.

"I've seen enough loss in my time," Buffy stated, voice like gravel. "I will not stand by and watch my... _family_ killed off one by one. You want me to fight? I'll _bring_ the fight."

Jake fought back the urge to smile. It wasn't the moment for signs of happiness. He simply nodded. He suddenly noticed that all eyes were back on him. He didn't need to put it to a vote, the grim looks of determination etched on everyone's face were all the signs of approval he needed to see. Finally able to take a deep breath, Jake began to walk forward and around the table, making his way to the door.

"We'll have to leave for Los Angeles tomorrow. Somehow, we've got to convince Angel of what's ahead."

The others simply stared at him. This family before him had healing to do. The stitching that was beginning to tear amongst was going to have to be repaired, and repaired now. But it wasn't his place to do so. He simply turned back to the door and headed out into the calming evening breeze. He needed a drink, one that was fairly strong. So far, he had experienced success. But he knew that the road ahead was going to get rougher, and that they still had miles of it to trek.


	8. Bar Talk

The bar scene was not what Jake had expected. He simply wanted to find a quiet spot to contemplate his next move. Instead, he was holed up in the corner of a rave club just down the street from Buffy's townhouse. He looked across the dance floor, the swirling lights and hypnotic music had a way of mesmerizing the people on the dance floor. Jake was not impressed. He reached for the glass sitting in front of him. He swallowed the amber liquid in a gulp, savoring both the burn and the sweetness of the bourbon. Sitting the glass back in front of him, he reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out a wadded pack of Marlboro Reds. Pulling the smoke from the pack, he put it to his lips and lit it with the small Zippo lighter he had recently purchased. He inhaled deeply, letting the acrid smoke burn within his lungs for a moment, then slowly exhaling. Roger had always told him that smoking would be the death of him... if only that had been the case. He continued to stare aimlessly into the crowd, contemplating the journey to the bar for another dose of liquid courage. He was startled back to reality, when the blonde figure appeared from nowhere and took a seat beside him.

"Didn't take you for techno-type," she stated simply.

He chuckled.

"Not my scene. I prefer Waylon, but it was the closest place I could find to get a drink," he replied, still staring into the crowd.

"They look so happy out there, don't they? No cares in the world... just soaking in the music and how wonderful their lives have turned out."

Jake finally turned his attention to the blonde seated beside him.

"You know, I used to turn a mean shade of green when I went to these places. Never seemed fair that some got it easier than the rest of us. But, they're the reason we're fightin' this damn war. At least someone gets to enjoy themselves..."

Buffy simply smiled, a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. She eyed the three empty shot glasses in front of her.

"Whiskey?" she inquired. Jake merely nodded.

"Something I haven't quite figured out. You dropped the bomb on us about our futures. But you're the one who needs to drink? Is there something missing?"

Jake sighed. Damn women. They always could sense when you were hiding something. He couldn't keep it from her anymore.

"There's a few things I failed to mention. Centering mainly on you and me."

Buffy took a quick breath. He could see her eyes widen as a flood of thoughts began to race through her head. He stifled a laugh.

"Nothing like that sweetheart. Not that I'm saying I wouldn't, I mean if I... if I had the chance... or if you allowed me the chance... what I mean..."

"Spit it out, cowboy," she remarked coyly. Jake took a second to collect his thoughts, then tried again.

"What I meant to say, is that there is somebody in Los Angeles right now that you might not be ready to see..."

"Who? Angel? I know. But I think we can put our past behind us for..."

"Not Angel," he cut in.

"Then who? Cord..."

"Spike," he stated simply.

Buffy's brain was sent reeling. She had watched Spike die, watched him literally go up in a blaze of glory. She had told him that she loved him. He didn't believe her. Honestly, Buffy didn't either. But she had wanted to so badly. If only they had a little more time. But now...

"But... how... when..." she questioned.

Jake took the final drag off his cigarette, savored it, then crushed it out on the sole of his worn boot. He flicked it carelessly across the floor, then turned back.

"To be honest, I ain't real sure. Never got the whole explanation. I do know that its tied to some amulet. He's important. Not alot of souled vampires roaming this ol' world. And I figure he'll be just as shocked to see you."

Buffy didn't respond. Her mind was cluttered with thoughts of Spike. What would she say? For weeks after the collapse of Sunnydale, she had imagined what she would tell him if only she had a second chance. Now, it appeared that she would. Jake could sense her confusion.

"It's not gonna be easy Buffy. We're about to go talk with a group of people who've spent the better part of the year being duped by evil. We've got to convince them of the truth, and we've got to do it without that evil catchin' wind of us. I've got to face the father that doesn't even know I exist. And then... I've got to convince him that..."

Jake trailed off, voice catching in the back of his throat. Buffy turned her attention back to the man beside her. She hadn't even thought about Jake and Wesley meeting.

"I can't imagine what it must be like. Trying to convince someone of your existence like that... well, now that you mention it, I kinda do."

Jake had to grin at Buffy's realization. But that wasn't his concern.

"Meetin' Pop again won't be that bad. It's the fact that I've got to kill the love of his life that will."

Buffy looked on puzzled. This was all some sort of supernatural soap opera, and she was lost.

"Winifred Burkle... the daughter of Roger and Trish... her and Pop were in love. Illyria infected her... destroyed her soul. But Pop wouldn't let go. He always thought there was something inside that he could save. He won't simply let me walk up and put one between her eyes."

"Who says that _you_ have to be the one that does it? After the story I heard, I was kinda hopin' I'd get some satisfaction out of a nice hellgod pummeling."

"It's kinda complicated. Let's just say that it's my job to do. Its one of the reasons I was chosen."

"And why _were_ you chosen?"

"Born of a Watcher and a Slayer. It's a funny thing kids born to Slayers. Whether they're boys or girls, some of the genes get passed down. As far as I know, I'm the first kid to be born with that sorta pedigree. Comes in handy in a fight."

"But Robin Wood, he was the son..."

"Born before Nikki received the Slayer line."

Again, Buffy simply absorbed Jake's explanations.

"Just how do you know so much about things that happened before you were even born?"

"Got a prep from the Powers. Guess they figured I needed to know everything if I was gonna come back and do the job. I'm the last shot. The final miracle the Powers saved before they were destroyed."

"What do you mean, last shot?"

Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out his tattered cigarette pack. Reaching in, he pulled his last smoke out and lit it.

"Let me put it this way, everyone who has ever fought in the war, whether they were good or evil, has always assumed that there's some kind of balance between the two. That's why neither side ever truly wins. You derail one apocalypse, another one springs up. It's supposed to be some sort of cycle. Let me tell ya, that view is a hundred percent, complete bullshit. There is no balance out there... just the war. Illyria finished it. It single handedly took out both sides, good and evil, and established itself as the one in control. Me being sent back was the last option the Powers had. Illyria destroyed them whenit opened the gates to the other dimensions. I'm not goin' back... hell, I'm not even walking away from the fight..."

Buffy stared in wide-eyed amazement. How were they going to fight something that was _this_ strong? Then, she realized exactly what Jake was hinting at.

"You mean... you're main goal is to kill Illyria? You're not here to win this battle?"

Jake nodded.

"I'm here to stop Illyria from gaining power. Recruiting you to team with Angel is necessary to fight the battle. It's the big one darling. Round twelve in the Garden for the heavyweight title. Together, you all can win. There's never been a bigger group of Champions assembled. This is where you get to shine."

"But not you..."

"Hehe... no. Unfortunately, there's always a catch. Y'see, if I kill Illyria, my timeline changes. I will be re-writing history. A history that doesn't include my mother saving my father. Without that intervention, I doubt little ol' me shows up. I kill Illyria... I cease to exist, in this time or any other time."

Buffy could scarcely find the words. This man... this Champion... was sent back in time to snuff out his very own existence.

"Wh-why?" she stammered.

"Why wipe my self out of existence? I don't know. It ain't like I'm lookin' for the glory in it. I guess I just figure that it's a pretty fair trade. If somebody has to give up their life, to make sure that these people out there still get to dance, I figure it's worth it. Besides, there ain't no big rodeo in the sky to catch if I fail. Everything will come crashin' down anyway."

Buffy nodded. She didn't understand, but then again, she didn't really have to. This wasn't her sacrifice to make. Her heart ached at the thought of someone having to sacrifice their very being in order to save the world. But she understood that if he failed, there wasn't much point in an afterlife, anyway. She stared on as Jake finished his cigarette, disposing of it in the same manner as earlier.

"What'dya say we head on home sister? This music is givin' me a headache, and we got a long way to go tomorrow."

Jake rose from his seat and offered his hand. Buffy smiled and placed her hand in his. They strode out of the club and back to the townhouse. Tomorrow, they would head to Los Angeles. It was the final step. One more story to tell. One last chapter to write before the finale.


	9. Shots Heard Round

**I appreciate everyone's reviews. We're getting closer to the end now, so I hope you've enjoyed the ride. This chapter is pretty short compared to the others. I had to get this out to get past my writer's block. The coming chapters will probably be a bit longer. Enjoy. **

* * *

Jake braced himself against the marble wall that composed the outside of the small motel just outside of Los Angeles. It was early morning, sun just beginning to peak above the horizon to the east. He thought back fondly to his childhood days... better days. With a cool breeze like this blowing, Jake would be out on horseback, checking the fenceline along the Burkle Ranch just before his morning chores. God how he loved Chisum, that ol' quarterhorse Roger had given him for his twelfth birthday. Roger always was a John Wayne fan. He was told his father was as well. He assumed that's why they had settled for the name Jacob. It held just enough British stiffness to it, not to mention sharing the name with one of the Duke's masterpieces. It was only fitting that his horse share a title role too. He was aged, long past his racing days. But on a clear morning, Jake would imagine the small pasture that lay out before him was the home stretch. He could still get the ol' boy up to a pretty quick gallop. And nothing beat the south Texas sunrise. God he missed that.

He took another drag off of his newly lit cigarette. It wasn't his first of the morning. Definitely wouldn't be his last. It calmed his nerves, even though it annoyed the hell out of the present company he was keeping. No matter. Everyone seemed to have the jitters. Of course, no one could blame them. They had been shacked up in this hotel for three days. Three days to sit and contemplate the upcoming battle, to reflect over where they had been, and more importantly, to dread where they were going if they failed. Buffy had wanted to jump into the mix as soon as the tires of the 747 hit American pavement. Jake had convinced her otherwise. After all, there was a timing issue. They couldn't let Wolfram and Hart know they were here, it would blow the lid off everything Angel was already planning. Jake himself didn't even know when the _right_ time to confront Angel would be, but they were now out of time. Today was the day. Jake took another puff and then carelessly flicked the cigarette away. He hadn't finished it, but there was always another one in the pack. Turning back to his room, he suddenly spun back to face the horizon. He could see just how beautiful today was going to be. But there was something in the air... a scent. Unmistakable for a country boy. Rain was coming. He just hoped it was the cleansing type.

* * *

Buffy stared through the small opening in the curtains at the man smoking outside. She had tried to sleep the night before, but it was no use. Thousands of outcomes in response to thousands of possibilities had raced through her mind like a flood bursting through a dam. She thought of Angel and Spike. What would she say to them? What would they say to _her_? She thought of Jake, of how he was going to face his father. How was he going to kill Illyria if Wesley truly was trying to protect that... _thing_? As she watched him flick his cigarette, the thought of Spike took over her thoughts. Andrew had finally let the secret slip shortly after their arrival. She couldn't decide whether to be pissed at Andrew for hiding the fact from her, or at herself for being too wrapped up in the Immortal to open her eyes. She had wanted to find him as soon as they arrived, so that she would have the time to tell him just what he meant to her. What she wasn't ready to tell him that day in Sunnydale... what she had waited too long to realize. Jake had convinced her differently. 'If this thing was going to work,' he had told her, 'we've got to do it at the right time.' She listened. After all, he seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of what was _supposed_ to happen today. So they had waited. Not the easiest thing to do. But, it made sense. And it did allow the fully trained Slayers an extra couple of days to make the trek to Los Angeles. Jake had put in a call to Faith too. Just as planned, there was no answer. She was no doubt already in town. If today was indeed the final showdown, they would need every gun they could spare. She heard a soft knock at the door and she slowly moved the curtains back into place._

* * *

__Later that afternoon_

Angel sat staring out the necro-tempered glass of his plush CEO office. How many times he had simply gazed at the glittering building of the Los Angeles skyline before him, he couldn't recount. It had been nearly five years since he had come to the City of Angels. He had lost so much along the way. And now, he was going to lose so much more. He rubbed the palm of his left hand. The wound where a pen had been stuck hours before had long since healed. Angel rubbed it nonetheless. He imagined it burned, because his soul wished for it to. His Shanshu was now gone. Signed away in the blood of the vampire it had foretold of so long ago. But it was something that had to be done. He couldn't afford for the Circle to wise up to him now. It didn't matter anyway. There wasn't much chance of him surviving to see its fruition anyway. He sighed heavily. Turning his attention back to the doorway, he waited for his fellow conspirators to arrive. It was time for the battle plan. It was suicide, he knew. But it was the only way in his mind. Taking a step for the mug of blood that sat on his desk, he rethought the plan over in his head again. People would die come nightfall, and his hands were going to be stained with the blood of at least one of them. But he couldn't bother with that. Angel was in this for the solution... and that man could never factor into anything other than the problem. Taking a sip, his thoughts were shattered by the sound of Wolfram and Hart's security alarms.

* * *

The lobby of the law office was expansive. Everywhere Jake looked, he saw walking suits and ties. Some were human. Others were not. In his mind, they were all evil. He had grown tired of waiting. He knew Angel was going to hand out battle plans soon, they were going to have to change those. Whether or not the Senior Partners caught on was of no concern at this point. After all, Angel was the CEO. Surely he could come up with something. It was time to get the Champions' attention. Straight ahead, he could see a force of about six men making their way through the crowd to his own position. No doubt Wolfram and Hart's finest in security. He smiled a little half-cocked crazed grin when he noticed the Kevlar vests and the batons. No holsters. No guns. He turned back towards the others that stood behind him. Locking eyes with the Slayer, he winked and turned back to the security force. In the blink of an eye, he reached around his back with both hands, pulling the two pistols concealed beneath his duster. Leveling them at the force, he let out a little yip.

"Let's go to work."

Without warning, a flurry of bullets was unleashed within the lobby of Wolfram and Hart. The two security guards at the point took the brunt of them directly in the chest, knocking them from their feet. The alarm sounded and the fight was on. Buffy and Kennedy immediately launched forward, dodging the baton swings of two of the guards. Xander produced a small baton of his own and engaged another. Willow and Giles stood behind the four, shielding Dawn from any attack. Jake had unloaded two more rounds into the left shoulder of the remaining guard. The first had caught Kevlar, the second had nicked the outer arm. The guard let out a howl of pain and hit the floor. Jake had seen worse gunshot wounds before. These guys must not be used to alot of firefights.

Suddenly, a large black figure leapt from the elevator shaft to the middle of the fight. Jake saw the glint of steel heading his way, and instinctively pulled his blade and caught the broadsword just inches from his face. Struggling to push the blade away, he saw a new group racing from a side corridor to the lobby. A muscular African American man was wielding a homemade battle axe. A platinum blonde in a black duster had a raised broadsword. And in the front was a mid-sized man with two pistols pointed right in Jake's direction.

"Well... hell," Jake muttered.

Suddenly, the pressure on his blade was released. Jake eyed the vampire with the broadsword wearily. He held his knife, back of the blade parallel to the back of his wrist, ready for another swipe. But Jake noticed the vampire's eyes were looking at him, but directly behind him.

"Bu-Buffy?" Angel and Spike stammered.

"Angel... Spike..." Buffy replied, just as nervously.

"We've got to talk..."


	10. Staring Down the Devil

**This chapter is going to be a little short too. It was either that, or turn the next few chapters into one long chapter, and I just didn't feel the need. Enjoy.**

* * *

"Wh-what is going on?" Angel stammered quietly.

Buffy looked lost. She was staring at Spike, torn between joy and heartbreak. She hadn't even heard Angel.

"We need to talk," Jake replied. "Somewhere alot less public than this..."

"How bout you put away your little knife, mate. Then we'll have nice little sitdown."

Jake grinned that same half-crazed grin he wore before unloading on the security force.

"You must be Spike. Sorry hoss, I'll drop the blade when you're buddy holsters them pistols."

Jake's eyes traveled from the platinum blonde back to the figure that had two Desert Eagles leveled at him.

"You don't seem to be in the position to do any sort of bargaining," was the Brit's clipped reply.

Jake cursed himself quietly. Was this the only way? He stared back into the man's eyes. Metallic blue meeting metallic blue. 'Let's see what the ol' man's got', he thought. With a simple movement of his arm, Jake launched the dagger across the room. Even with his heightened senses, Angel barely caught a glimpse of the blade before it landed home... wedged two inches deep into the barrel of one of Wesley's guns. The force ripped the pistol from the man's hand before he had time to react. Wesley and Angel looked stunned. They turned back to the figure that had somehow managed to wedge a steel knife through a gun barrel. They saw two more pistols staring back them.

"I reckon I just upped the ante boys."

"Everybody! Drop your weapons! We're not here for a fight, dammit!" Buffy railed.

Angel slowly brought his sword to his side, but neither Wesley nor Jake budged. Father and son eyed one another closely. Wesley didn't know what to make of this man. He certainly wasn't human. No human could move that fast or throw an object with that much force. He wasn't a vampire. He could not have simply walked off sunlit street. That meant he was a demon. And bullets could kill demons easily enough.

"Looks like we've got a bit of a Mexican stand-off here," Jake rasped.

"Shall we?" Wesley quipped, finger resting on the trigger.

"No time, Pop."

Slowly, Jake lowered his pistols to the side. He noticed the look of surprise in Wesley's eyes. Had he just called him Pop? 'Dammit', he thought. He didn't need to reveal that much to the man. They needed to get the hell out of this lobby.

"C'mon English. Now ain't the time for shoot first, ask later."

Jake's focus shifted to the black man with the big axe. It was still raised, in a defensive position. Charles Gunn. The streetfighter was now trying to mediate. As if on cue, Wesley lowered his pistol. However, his stare never left the man before him.

"We can talk upstairs," Angel replied. He was speaking directly to Buffy, trying to mask the swirling pool of emotion that was rippling through his body.

* * *

The atmosphere in Angel's office was tense. The Rome faction stood pensively together, a good twenty feet away from Angel and his co-workers. Giles, the voice of reason, hadn't spoken a single word. He didn't think he could. He had caught Wesley staring menacingly at him from across the room. Who was this man? The Wesley he had known had been stiff and proper. A bumbling school boy forced into the real world. This man was different. He looked... broken. He had heard Jake's story, but he still hadn't fully believed it. Now he did. The man staring across the room was dangerous... deadly. And he would no doubt kill Giles, if the notion possessed him to do so.

In the middle of the room, Buffy and Jake stood side by side. Buffy continued to steal glances toward Spike, whose eyes were trying to burrow down into her soul. Jake's eyes were locked with Angel's. He wanted so bad to speak with his father, to tell him how brave he was... how much he loved him. But he couldn't. This Wesley Wyndam-Price was not a father. And after tonight, would probably never be one.

"You say you're here to help stop an apocalypse, huh," Angel broke the silence.

"That's right. We figured you boys might need a little hand takin' on somethin' this big," Jake replied. Angel's brow furrowed a bit.

"Well, who the hell are you?"

"He a friend Angel," Buffy cut in. She didn't know how far Jake wanted to get into the story. Besides, Angel knew Buffy. He knew she wouldn't bring someone here that she didn't fully trust herself. But the look in Angel's eyes betrayed that thought.

"Look, the name's Jake. I'm here to tell you a story. A story about the end of this world. _The_ end of this world. And I've got a message too. From someone you know pretty well. Says she's been watchin', and you still can't plan worth a damn."

Angel's jaw dropped. He searched for the words, but they wouldn't come. He knew who this man was talking about. And it sounded like something she would say. But how? How did this... _guy_ know her. How did he know where or even _who_ she was? Finally, he let out a short, shocked reply.

"Cordelia."

"Bingo. I'm here to straighten this whole matter out. It's gonna be a whole helluva lot worse than you thought it would."

Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted when the door to Angel's office flew open.

"What in the name of Neil Diamond is going on around here!"

Jake turned to see the brightly dressed green demon bursting into the office in pure diva style. Krevlorneswath. The Empath.

"I mean, first the alarm sounds, then there's gun fire. Are we under attack..."

Lorne cut his shrill remark off when he noticed the group of people to his far left against the window. He then noticed the slender blonde and the man beside her standing in the middle of the office. His eyes went wide with shock. This guy's aura was off the charts! He knew the blonde had to be the Slayer of Angelcakes' heart. This did not bode well. Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath from the group by the window. Puzzled, Lorne turned to the door as Illyria limped in. She was still badly bruised from the beating she had taken from Hamilton. Even in a limp, she seemed to stride majestically into the center of the room.

Jake was frozen in his boots for a split second. Everything seemed to slow down as he watched... _it_ enter the office. He could suddenly feel his heart pick up pace. Most people he knew said there blood would turn cold if they ever came face to face with Illyria. Not Jake. He could feel the fire burning inside him. Hatred and rage began to well in the back of his throat, and it was all he could do to swallow their metallic taste. Illyria made her way to the center of the room. She stopped right in front of him, merely feet away from the man.

"Your body warms. This one is lusting after me."

Angel had to fight back a laugh. Jake didn't even crack a smile.

"Oh believe me," Jake rasped through gritted teeth. "It ain't _lust_."

Before anyone could move, Jake's hand was beneath his duster. He whipped out a single pistol and leveled it right at Illyria and pulled the trigger.


	11. Hurt

**Thanks for the reviews! Here's yet another chapter. I know, the story is beginning to slow down a bit. There's just too many things that oughta be addressed in this confrontation, and I can't cover 'em all in justa couple short chapters. The song is "Hurt", originally by Nine Inch Nails, but this is the Cash version. As far as I'm concerned, when Johnny Cash puts his name on it, it don't get any better than his version. Enjoy.**

* * *

Jake was fast. In life, it had been his birthright. He was supposedly the first child born _from_ a Slayer. He had the genes. His father had taught him about guns early on. Roger, because he always called him Roger, had taught him that much more. Being fast meant staying alive in his world. The Powers had given him a little extra speed to boot. No sense in wasting your last hope if the man can't even outdraw the competition, was there? Besides, Jake had seen Illyria before. Not up close, but from a distance. He saw its blue hair waving through the crimson stroked sky. He had had once shot at it. Leveled his pistol and thought he could end it. Instead, he had been run through with a spear. Crumpling to the ground, he had taken one shot. He knew it had missed. He knew he had failed. But come hell or high water, he had gone down fighting.

Now he had the chance of a lifetime. He could end the oncoming slaughter and would've brought the Champions together. And all he had to do was pull trigger. So he did. And as he did, he cursed himself. He had been too slow. Though the hatred curled off of him like smoke, he had hesitated that extra half second. And all a vampire needs is _one_ half second. As he squeezed the trigger, he could fee the force bury into him. It knocked him from his feet and, watching the bullet as it left, went wide of its mark, burying itself in the wall behind Illyria. Jake hit the ground with a resounding thud. He felt like his shoulder was busted, but that was the least of his problems now. He managed to roll to his back, only to find himself staring eye to eye with the most bloodthirsty face the world had ever seen.

"You're good with a gun. Think it'll work on me?"

Jake smirked. The Powers were right about this one. He was as bad as they came, and as good as they came... all in the same moment. With a quick arch of his back, Jake gained enough momentum to shove Angel off with both arms. The vampire now away, he began to reach for the spare pistol behind his back. Again, he was too slow.

* * *

"Pull it again, and I'll have to give you a third eye."

Jake looked up and saw his own father staring at him, _his_ spare pistol pointed at him, merely inches from his temple. Jake knew all he had to do was snatch the pistol from Wesley's hand, spin, and fire the final shot. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. In the lobby, it was nothing short of showing off. But now, with Winifred's _shell_ on the line, his father would no doubt stop at nothing to kill him. That one shot would be worth it. Hell, he wouldn't live after the kill anyway. But, in the back of his mind, he _knew_ Wesley would kill him before he pulled the trigger. He might be human, but the man had a way of getting what he wanted. And right now, whether he knew who Jake was or not, he wanted to kill the man whose hand was beneath his duster.

* * *

Buffy stared wild-eyed, both in horror and hatred. She knew who Illyria was when she strode into the room. The fact that Angel had tackled Jake during his shot infuriated her even more. She thought back to the conversation at the bar. Jake was sent back to kill her. If he couldn't, then she would take on the task. She wasn't going to let this thing kill off her sister. Reaching for the stake she always kept tucked in her inside jacket pocket, she spun and intended to plant it right inside this _beast's_ heart.

"Slayer!"

Damn that voice! Dammit, dammit, dammit! She turned to find Spike, leaping her direction, with all intents on stopping the melee before it could occur. Turning from Illyria, she was suddenly in a prone position. She braced herself as the leather duster covered shoulder buried into her own, spilling them both backwards across the floor. She gasped out for breath, and in the process, her eyes met his. The look was one of heartache. The vampire, who had been so brave in the Hellmouth, looked as if he had beaten with a crucifix repeatedly. She couldn't shove him away if she had wanted to. His body on top of her own felt _too_ right.

* * *

"That's enough!" came the shouted British reply. Giles had been quiet this entire time. This was not his story to tell, nor was his place to step into the murky waters that had already surrounded this quasi-alliance. But he refused to sit back and watch Jake die. He stepped into the middle of the office, staring intently towards the vampire who was now beginning to stand.

"Giles, I'll put the next one between your eyes if you don't leave this office... _immediately."_

Not surprisingly, the voice hadn't come from Angel. It had come from Wesley. Giles turned his attention towards the ex-Watcher. Wesley did not return the favor. His cold blue eyes were targeted on the man on the ground, as was his pistol. There was no doubt that Wesley would pull that trigger. And he knew that once he did, everything that _should_ happen would fade away.

"You don't wanna do that Pop," Jake whispered between his teeth. He had managed to get himself into more of bind than he intended.

"That's funny. That would be the second time you have referred to me as 'Pop', and I haven't the slightest clue to whom you're referring. I suggest you elaborate on that. And while you're at it, tell us who you are as well. I'd hate to soak my employer's rug with fresh blood."

Jake let out a deep breath. There were probably a hundred different ways this conversation could have gone. God knows Jake had thought through every one of them in minute detail. It was his father's brain after all. However, this was not one of the scenarios he had planned on. But now, there was no other way. He wouldn't risk the chance at killing Illyria. Even if it meant having to spill the story to his own father. With a heavy heart and through gritted teeth, Jake made his response.

"I call you 'Pop', because that's what you are. You're my Pop. I'm that gleam in your eye even as you hold that barrel to my head! I was sent here by the Powers That Be... by Cordelia... to stop _the _Apocalypse before it happens. You're not fighting the Senior Partners tonight... you're fighting _Illyria_!"

"LIAR!" Wesley roared, pushing the barrel further into Jake's temple.

"L-let him s-sing Wes," came a quiet request from across the room. "I can see his aura bleeding from here. L-let him p-prove what he says..."

* * *

Goddamn Lorne! The Empath demon always seemed to come down on Wes's better judgment. _Better judgment_. The thought cut Wesley to quick. After all, Lorne had had the chance to stop Wesley from stealing Connor. Wesley had knocked him unconscious for trying to interfere. Not that Lorne remembered those events. But Wesley did. It was impossible that this man was his own son, but his finger was a hair slip away from pulling the trigger. If Lorne could _prove_ that this man was liar, then Wesley would let his pistol do the rest of the talking.

* * *

"You want me to WHAT!" Jake replied, sweat beginning to bead down his forehead, but sight never leaving the pale eyes of his father.

"Listen cowpoke, if you want to live to ride off in that sunset, you better make with the Gene Autry and bust out the campfire song!"

Jake swallowed hard. This situation just got worse by the second!

"Fuck it. I'll sing. But if Pop blows my own head off 'cause I hit the wrong note, it's gonna be on both of yer conscious!"

"Indulge me," was the Brit's clipped reply.

Jake let out a sigh.

_"Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear. _

_You are somewhere else, I am still right here. _

_What have I become? My sweetest friend._

_Everyone I know, goes away in the end. _

_And you could have it all. My empire of dirt. _

_I will let you down. I will make you hurt. _

_If I could start again, a million miles away. _

_I would keep myself... I would find... a way..."_

"Oh... my..." was all Lorne managed to choke out before stumbling backwards. He found himself caught in the arms of the elder man dressed in tweed and wearing glasses. Lorne looked up into the man's eyes. Was everybody's soul crying out for forgiveness! Regaining his bearings, Lorne bolted back to his own two feet.

"Don't shoot Wesley! H-he... he's your son!"

Wesley had to admit, the song this man chose to sing was a bit heart wrenching. In many ways, it mirrored Wesley's own life. For a split second, he felt for the man. But that moment passed. Then Lorne made his request. Wesley wasn't willing to oblige. He wasn't going to let this man, demon, or whatever loose with two super quick pistols on Illyria. He was still ready to pull the trigger when he felt a cold yet steadying hand on his shoulder. He turned to his right, a bit of shock and surprise mixing in his eyes, to face... Angel.

"Wes," Angel rasped out. "If Lorne vouches for him, let him tell the story. If Cordelia sent him, it _wouldn't_ be to kill Illyria..."

Angel's voice faded away as Wesley continued to stare at him. The vampire was right. Empath demons couldn't lie, and Lorne definitely wouldn't lie when he knew his life was on the line. And, like Angel, Wesley was moved by the mere mention of Cordelia's name. He would give this stranger a few minutes, if it was only out of deference. He slowly pulled the pistol barrel away. Before he could turn his attention back to Jake, the man had already raised himself to his own feet. Instinctively, Wesley pushed him aside. As Jake stumbled Wesley leapt forward. Pistol still pointed at Jake, he took up his position, directly blocking Illyria's figure from any attack.

* * *

Angel grabbed Jake by the collar of his duster and yanked him upright. There were too many questions to be answered. Watching the exchange between Jake, Wesley, and Lorne was enough. But he had also noticed the fact that Buffy had yet to throw Spike off. Who was he kidding? He could smell her scent wafting through the air... he _knew_ they were kissing. Leave it to Spike and Buffy to make out in the midst of a life-threatening situation. What was left of his heart broke that much more. He always had loved Buffy. Even when everyone, including himself, had told him otherwise. And he _really_ hated to see Spike kissing her. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Besides, he was fairly certain another love was watching him. And _she_ was the one he yearned to see. Looking Jake directly in the eye, Angel made an ill attempt at "popping his collar" for the tough guy look.

"I want to know everything... and I mean _everything._ And, if you try to kill a friend of mine again... I might make you _eat_ that pretty little gun off yours."

Jake's hand had long been removed from his lone pistol left behind his back. Hell there wasn't much use for it now anyway. He had come back to bring the Champions together, not further drive them apart. Staring Angel straight in the eye, he proceeded to tell the story he had recounted less than a week before in Rome.

* * *

Jake finished his story with a stony glare in his father's direction. Somewhere, deep down, he had hoped he would get some sort of emotional response. Wesley's granite faced stare had scarcely budged. Angel and Gunn, on the other hand, look visibly shaken. Probably because Angel had allowed Wes to allow Illyria to live and Gunn had ultimately been the reason for the Old One's resurrection.

"LIAR!" Wesley roared once again, raising his pistol. Jake's emotions had reached their breaking point.

"Liar! Why would I lie! _How_ could I lie! Your Empath read the truth, and I've told the truth. That _shell_ is gonna kill everyone in this room. And it's gonna do it _one... by... one._ Are you willing to sit here and take responsibility for that! You know the truth as well as I do. You were a Watcher... you once told me to "always take into account the details"."

With that Jake boldly strode up to his father. Pistol staring him straight in the face, Jake leaned closer, forcing the barrel between his eyes.

"LOOK in my eyes Pop! You can see yerself just like you were starin' in a mirror! I'm your son for Christsakes! And that bitch behind that your protectin' is gonna bring _all _of us down!"

"NO! It's not true... Angel, listen to me. This is some sort of ruse, some sort of trick. It could be a bloody cyborg again for all we know. Illyria is not capable of such a deed. Not in her weakened state..."

Wesley's heated response was cut short when the door to the office was again opened, only this time it made a loud _thud_ as the knob bounced off the adjacent wall.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in a... conference. I see we've got our intruders in hand. The Senior Partners are awaiting their swift death."

Hamilton.


	12. Battle Plans

**Here's another chapter. More buildup I know, but we're down to the nitty-gritty now. This'll be the last chapter for the next couple of days. I'm takin' a weekend off for a fishin' trip, but an update should come early next week. Enjoy.**

* * *

"We've got this under control Hamilton," Angel bit out, trying to sound as menacing as possible. As if he didn't have enough problems fouling up his plan, now the _liaison_ to the Senior Partners was standing amongst the group that planned on destroying him.

"Ah... I see," Hamilton replied. Taking a few steps he looked down to see Buffy and Spike, still on the floor, both staring back at him.

"So this is the almighty Slayer? Well, I see I'll have to wait for a more opportune time to shake your hand, though, I must say, it was rather disappointing to hear that you not only defeated the First Evil, but that you also, ahem, _infected, _all the potential Slayers. Well, no matter. There's nothing like a bunch of hormone raging super girls to sway to the dark side. The Partners believe that, in time, they will make quite the formidable army."

Angel took a step forward, coming eye ball to eye ball with Hamilton. He leaned in, speaking in a level where only Hamilton could hear. Well, Hamilton, Spike, and Jake considering their heightened senses.

"I'm handling this Hamilton." His statement caused the man to smirk.

"Really? Because a cynical person would see a room full of do-gooders who just led an assault on _your_ business. It would be a shame if these... white hats, were to sway your newly found allegiance. The Circle would be most displeased."

Angel didn't back down. Hamilton had called his bluff, and Angel knew that the entire house of cards was beginning to fall down around his ears.

"I think I've proven my allegiance so far. Besides, without humanity, there's no need for the good fight. So walk back out that door and let me handle _my_ business."

Hamilton stared directly ahead, trying to read any trace of emotion that might be sketched on the vampire's face. There was nothing. He took a step back and smiled.

"Good. That's what I like to hear. And who might this be?" Hamilton spoke, pointing in the direction of Jake.

"Just a weary traveler," Jake replied dryly. Hamilton was not amused.

"Well, I know of few _travelers_ who proceed to spearhead a terrorist attack on a multi-billion dollar company." He turned back to Angel. "I would like to be informed immediately of their deaths. The Senior Partners are very... _adamant."_

Hamilton turned to leave, looking over his shoulder towards Wesley and Illyria.

"Nice to see you back and moving Illyria. I was rather disappointed in our last meeting." He continued to walk towards the door reaching it, then yelling over his shoulder, "Keep up the good work, Spike!" With that he was gone.

"Bloody ponce," was the only reply to be heard, and it came from the floor.

* * *

In all the commotion, Wesley had dropped the gun that had been firmly planted in Jake's forehead to his side. His attention was focused on Hamilton's figure as he strode out the door. For a moment, Wesley considered unloading the entire clip into the man's back. But that would only bring down the Partners' wrath that very moment. He turned his attention back to Jake. The younger man was staring right back at him.

"Thought about polishin' that clip off, didn't ya?" Jake quipped. Wesley eyed the man thoughtfully.

"What of it," he replied.

"I was thinkin' about doin' the same thing." With that, Wesley flashed a dead smile Jake's way while tapping the barrel of the gun against his leg, no doubt reminding the man of his earlier threat.

"Yes well, you seem to be trying to kill an awful lot of people today. So tell me, _son_, who sent you..."

Jake's eyes went wide with rage. What more could he do to prove to this man he was protecting Armageddon? He had sung for the Empath. The Empath had corroborated his story. Even Angel and Charles seemed to believe the man after Lorne's endorsement.

"He speaks the truth," came a low rasp from behind Wesley. Surprised, he turned to see Illyria staring ahead blankly at Jake.

"He is neither human nor of this plane. He is surrounded by the light... he is their warrior... and he has come for vengeance."

Wesley could not find the words. This was all too... surreal. _Separate truth from illusion_ he thought. He had been told that long ago. He had tried so hard to do so, but that line was blurred at best. He slowly turned, pistol still at the ready, and body still blocking Illyria.

"You _will not_ kill the Old One," he let out, voice so low it was more of a growl. "If all that you say is true, it is my apparent death that causes the apocalypse. I suppose I should feel flattered. But I will not allow you to kill her."

"It," Jake bit out.

"There is still hope for her... and I was once in the business of providing it."

Jake felt the oncoming storm of despair long before it spread throughout his body. He had told himself that he would stop at nothing to kill Illyria. It was his mission... no, it was the _world's_ mission. But now, with the Old One mere feet away, all that stood between him and success was a man. And he couldn't kill that man. In his mind, he tried to convince himself that was just one life. He could subdue the man, kill Illyria, and be done with it. But this man was his father. This man had given him life. And right now, the man before him would stop at nothing to protect Illyria's life. Jake simply couldn't pull the trigger.

"I was sent back to fulfill my mission. You've still got hope for _it_, but the hopes of the world rest on my shoulders. If you fall, the tides are gonna turn..."

Jake trailed off, trying to hide the look of condemnation in his eye. He slowly holstered his pistol and turned back to Angel.

"I know you've got plans Angel. Let's get to 'em."

* * *

Within only a few moments, the atmosphere had become much more suitable. Buffy and Spike had wrapped up their informal 'hello' and were now standing. Spike, ironically, was standing with the Rome faction. Buffy continued to stare in the direction of Illyria. The being was continually gazing in Dawn's direction, no doubt sensing the power that she held. The group had taken up around her, shielding her from any attack. She was infuriated that Jake refused to pull the trigger, but she really couldn't blame him. Had she been in his shoes, she would have reacted the same way. But there was still time. Tonight would by Illyria's last, she thought. There were too many people that were coming for her. One of them would get past Wesley.

"Cyvus Vail is one of the most powerful wizards on the West Coast. Among other things, he can alter both time and reality. Wesley... you've seen the mansion. He thinks you're unstable... thinks you're corruptible. You and Willow..."

"And Illyria," Wesley cut in sharply. Angel simply stared back at him. That plan hadn't worked out the way he had hoped.

"Fine. You, Willow, and Illyria will go to the mansion. Willow can play his game... you just need to take the shot."

Wesley nodded.

"Gunn, you get the Senator. She's pure hellspawn, and on top of that, she's a politician. She likes to surround herself with vampire bodyguards. That's you and Kennedy's stop."

Willow squeezed Kennedy's hand, the two sharing an unheard goodbye. She had hoped they would fight together, but she knew that if Gunn was going to take on a nest of vamps, he would need a Slayer.

"That's what I like to hear. I've been missin' the good ol' days of hack 'n slash," Gunn replied while slinging his axe over his right shoulder.

"Spike... you've got a baby to kidnap. The Fell Brethren got him, and they won't give him up without a fight."

Angel sighed. This might be the hardest thing he has ever said.

"Take Buffy with you. It'll even out the odds. I want the baby back with his parents and I want the Brethren eliminated."

Spike merely nodded. His cockney bravado had been stowed for now. Angel noticed he and Buffy were holding hands. As he made his way up, he locked eyes with her. She seemed to be telling him 'thank you' without moving her lips. 'She's happy,' Angel thought. He simply nodded her direction.

"Giles... Xander... Andrew... you've got the Hyperion. It's our old base of operations. I want you take Dawn there and protect her. Anybody that survives meets in the alley north of it. We're gonna need you to make sure that it's secure before we get there. Giles, you can handle the sanctuary spells and Xander can do the fighting."

Xander punched his hand into his open palm, trying to psyche himself of for the big fight. He hit it a little harder than anticipated, and began to try and shake the throbbing sting it had caused. He flashed his typical sheepish smile Angel's way.

"Giles, how many Slayers do you have with you?"

"Roughly forty-five, but by nightfall we may have as many eighty."

"Good. Contact your best. Izzerial the Devil dines with three members of the Black Thorn every night. They won't see it coming. Here's the address..."

Giles moved forward and took the paper from Angel's grasp.

"Lorne... back up Lindsey. You know what you've got to do."

"Honestly Angel, I never have been the Gladiator type... I'm much more than emotional shoulder. I do this... I-I... I won't be coming back. Do me a favor... don't look for me, okay?"

Sadly, Angel nodded.

"Think I'm gonna have to veto that request, hoss."

Angel turned quickly to the figure standing to his right.

"Excuse me?"

"Did I tell you that ol' Cordy said you were a lousy planner? Well, there's yer slip-up."

"You've got be kidding, right? You don't even know..."

"I don't have to. We need all the help we can get. One more sword or two more pistols goes a long way to win this thing."

Angel tried to keep his voice low. Lorne was the only one who had known what Angel's true plan for the ex-lawyer was.

"He's not part of the solution," he whispered. "He's evil."

"It's kinda funny Angel. That man's been searchin' for redemption for a long time. I know somebody kinda like that. Hell, I hear he has his evil phases too ever now and again."

"He'll turn on us."

"Oh, Lindsey McDonald turning on us is _not_ what I'm concerned with," Jake replied dryly. He didn't have to turn and look in Illyria's direction. He could feel Wesley's deathly glare from behind him.

"Fine," Angel replied shortly. "Back him up Lorne."

Lorne looked like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He would not be playing the role of Judas in this production.

"Guess that just leaves you and me big guy."

"I suppose you've got another plan for that as well?"

"Nah... not really. You've taken care of the big player. I figure you know who we're gunnin' after."

Angel had to smile. Wherever this guy came from, he did indeed know what was going on. And the guy looked pretty good in a fight. Maybe that might just win this war. Then it dawned on Angel. He had never given a second thought to if he could _win_. He simply wanted to eliminate the Black Thorn. Send a message to the Senior Partners that they weren't in control. But now, with this force... and even the Powers sending someone to aid, Angel sensed a legitimate shred of hope. Turning his gaze to Jake, he could read the man's face like a book. He was going to try and kill Illyria, come hell or highwater. Angel didn't really trust her himself, but he didn't fully trust this man either. No matter. There were too many slips between here and there to worry about.

"Alright everyone. Take my personal elevator... it will get you out of the building without anyone noticing. Good luck... I'll see you at the Hyperion."


	13. Armageddon: Act I

**Back again. Appreciate the reviews. This story is really taking alot so far, I'm glad you guys have enjoyed it thus far. This my first real fan fiction, so it has indeed been a treat.**

* * *

Angel stood staring out his window of special glass, watching as the sunset slowly faded away. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had just sent every one he knew and loved, marching blindly to their own deaths. As the lights of Los Angeles began to shine brighter against the expanding darkness, no doubt everyone was well on their way. No doubt Spike had taken off with the Viper. Spike and _Buffy._ Seeing her had been perhaps the biggest shock of the day. And it had indeed been a shocking day. He had never really believed Buffy had felt for Spike. He was still waiting on her to simmer or bake or whatever the hell she had told him that night in Sunnydale. He had flown halfway across the world to find her, only she had found him. But it wasn't _him_ she was after. The makeout session on the floor of his office had proven that. In that moment, Angel had conceded. He would never again know her touch. Funny, as much as it hurt, he had expected alot worse. Maybe he truly was in love with Cordelia. Maybe it was Nina. For the life, or rather unlife, of him he could not piece together a rational thought.

"Been awful quiet over there," came the drawl from behind him.

Angel turned to see the figure sitting on the corner of his desk, carelessly eyeing the pistol in his hand. Angel had seen alot in over two centuries of walking this world, but he had never met someone who was from the future. He still had a hard time believing the man's claim. But the man said he was sent by Cordelia. He had gained the trust of Buffy's friends, something even Angel hadn't accomplished while the two were on 'good terms'.

"So... you're really from the future, huh?"

"Sure 'nough," Jake replied, holstering the pistol and finally locking eyes with the vampire. "And yeah, she's still watchin' you."

"I didn't ask."

"Didn't have to. It's written all over yer face."

Angel took a few steps closer to the man sitting on the desk, coming with striking distance.

"What's going to happen... tonight?"

Jake straightened up, pulled himself to his feet, and let an overdue breath.

"Tonight... tonight is where the hammer finally comes down. The Powers pulled one helluva a big string to set this stage. It's the ultimate good against the ultimate evil, winner takes the whole enchilada."

"And Illyria?"

"She's gonna turn the tide. She'll take down _both_ sides."

"You know I can't let you kill her... she's... she's..."

"There is no 'she' anymore Angel. There's only 'it'. And this isn't yer call Champ... it's theirs." Jake replied, pointing to the ceiling. Angel simply stared back at the man. He didn't trust Illyria. He couldn't. But he couldn't sit back and watch her executed either. No matter _who_ wanted it done.

"If you kill her, you'll be the next," Angel growled, taking another step towards the man. Jake responded by taking a step towards Angel, leaving the two merely inches apart.

"Don't worry, _when_ I kill her, I'm stampin' myself out."

Suddenly, the face to face confrontation was interrupted when Angel's office door was kicked open. Abused for most of the day, the door finally snapped at its hinges and crashed a few feet from the doorway.

"Now this is truly a disappointment. I was certain that the cowboy would be dead."

"Hamilton" came the clenched reply of both men.

* * *

The ride to Vail's mansion had been one of silence. Willow could feel the contempt directed towards her as Wesley pulled the 4 Runner to a stop about a block away from their destination. The man at the wheel was not the same Wesley she had known in Sunnydale. He wasn't even the same man she had met a little over a year ago in Los Angeles. This man was ragged, rough around the edges, and very dangerous.

"W-Wesley... I never really got a chance to a-apolo..."

"There's no need," came the biting reply.

"But there is... i-if I had o-only..."

"What Willow! What would you have done! Go against the all-knowing Rupert Giles' judgment that we were evil and help us? I think not."

"But Wesley, J-Jake... your son... he..."

Wesley slammed his fist across the hood of the vehicle, leaving behind a good sized dent. He turned to face Willow. What she saw terrified her. There was nothing in his eyes but hatred. Even the air he exhaled seemed to be laced with venom.

"Do NOT call him that again! I have no son... and I will not allow you or Lorne or Christ himself to convince me otherwise."

"B-but..."

"Enough! We're here to do a job Willow, that's all. I'd prefer it if we simply do that job and meet the others in the alley. I have no need for petty conversation..."

With that, Wesley turned and began to make his way up the grassy embankment to Vail's front door. Illyria, surprisingly silent, followed suit. Willow, shocked to her very core at the man's outburst, grudgingly brought up the rear.

* * *

"Nice car," Buffy remarked dryly as Spike continued to speed along the streets of Los Angeles in Angel's Viper.

"Yeah well... company perks and all," was the reply.

"Listen Spike, about..."

"No need, luv. No need to tap dance across my undead heart again."

Buffy was taken aback. After everything that happened, he still did not believe her. Of course, she hadn't really given him a reason to either.

"Spike... I wanted to tell you... that... I... I never stopped thinking about you..."

"Funny, I seem to recall in Rome you bein' wobbly in the knees for a certain wanker by the name of Immortal."

"It was just a... phase..."

"Ah, a phase. And I suppose I was just a bloody fad?"

"No! Geez... what's with vampires and the guilt trip! I'm trying to tell you that you're _still_ in my heart Spike, but you just rattle on and on..."

She was cut off as the car came to a screeching halt. Before she could protest, she found herself locked into a deep kiss with the driver of said car.

* * *

Lindsey thrust the broadsword home, impaling the demon that had stood before him. Pulling his sword free, he watched as the demon fell limp to the floor. Looking around, the floor was littered with demons. Lindsey had never felt so alive. He wasn't caught up in the joy of the kill. It was the idea that he may have finally found his niche in life. He and Angel would never see eye to eye, but he owed the Senior Partners some major payback. If he had to play the white hat to get it, well, that was just part of the game.

"One helluva a mess. Glad I'm not on clean up duty."

"Yeah... funny thing about blood. You can always wash it off," came the reply of the green demon behind him. The whole display had left Lorne feeling sick to his stomach. He had seen enough bloodshed for his time. He longed for the days of his bar, his Sea Breeze, and a good Aretha Franklin tune.

"So I take it you guys trust me?"

"Nobody trusts you Lindsey."

"Well... I could sing for you?"

Lorne stared back at the man with hard eyes.

"Waste of time."

Without warning, Lorne pulled the small automatic pistol that had been concealed inside his jacket. He leveled it at Lindsey's shocked face and pulled the trigger. The demon behind the ex-lawyer took the bullet right between the eyes, slumped backwards, and fell to the floor. Lindsey did a double take, turned back to Lorne, and flashed a smile.

"Nice shot."

"Let's go," was the reply.

* * *

Cyvus Vail did not know what to make of the three figures before him. He had figured Wesley Wyndam-Pryce to be a man who would betray Angel. Vail was responsible for Wesley regaining his memories. Those memories had driven the man down a path of self-destruction and alcohol. Beaten and broken, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was a man with nothing to lose. Men like that were easy to sway when power was involved. And Cyvus Vail wielded an ungodly amount of power. But it seemed Mr. Pryce had been a disappointment. Instead, he was suspended motionless across the room, finger gripping a trigger that he had been too slow to pull.

Vail paid little attention to the Old One. He had no need to fear her anymore. Mr. Pryce had conveniently drained her power. She was of no consequence to him, but he enjoyed the thought that he could boast of killing an Old One. The red head that was suspended next to her was who he was _truly_ intrigued with. He had heard of this one, through circles and rumors. She was a very powerful Wicca. Perhaps the _most_ powerful in quite sometime. She could be quite a match for the old warlock. But she was fighting an inner battle as well as an outer battle. Vail could sense the darkness that still ran through her veins. She couldn't fully control her own powers, and Vail exploited the weakness to its full extent. Even now, he could see the veins around her eyes begin to darken, her eyes slowly begin to fill up with pools of deep black. He would let his dark magic soak into her. She would kill the two she had come with, and then _she_ would make for a formidable protégé. Cyvus Vail would soon be an even greater force to reckon with.

"Well Mr. Pryce... I have enjoyed the company. But as you can tell, your friend is beginning to feel the strain of darkness tugging at her very soul. Soon, she'll kill you with her own hands."

Willow heard the cackling wizard across the room and it made her stomach turn. She couldn't speak, but in her mind she wanted to scream. She could feel it coming on. The unbridled power that dark magic unleashed inside of her. She tried to ground herself. Tried to fight the tide of darkness coming over her. But it was too much. Suddenly, she fell to the ground with a thud. Panicked, she looked around. Wesley and Illyria had both fallen as well. Willow felt the darkness rush out of her body, replaced by calm. Bewildered, she looked across the room. The decrepit wizard who had once stood before her was now slumping to his knees. He pitched forward face first, tubes ripping from his machine and splattering beside him lifeless body. She looked behind the body and saw a figure walking towards her, a sword in hand.

"What's the deal Red? Nobody can give me a call to let me know the apocalypse is on its way?"

Faith.


	14. Standing at the Edge

**Here's the latest. This one is probably the longest chapter to date, but I didn't see any reason in disrupting the story with two different chapters. Anyway, we're entering the home stretch now. I think one or two chapters is all we like, three if I decide to drag the story a little farther. Enjoy.**

* * *

Senator Brucker's office was a good thirty minute drive across town. Rather than jacking one of Angel's cars, he led Kennedy to the employee garage and to his new pride and joy: the solid black 2004 Chevrolet Z71. He always had a thing for trucks. The ride to the office had been burdened by a heavy silence. It made Gunn... uncomfortable to say the least. He didn't like the idea of fighting off a pack of vampires without knowing at least _something_ about the person backing him up.

"So you're a Slayer too, huh?"

"Yes... I am..." came the mumbled reply. Kennedy's gaze remained out the passenger window, watching the dim street lights pass by. She didn't like the thought of Willow being anywhere near that blue leathery... _thing._

"That must be some kinda trip... super strength and all..."

This time there was no response. He let out a muted sigh.

"So... you and Willow... you guys pretty close?"

Kennedy's head immediately snapped around, eyeing Gunn closely.

"Is there some sorta problem here, because..."

"No! No!" Gunn replied defensively. "No problem at all. Hell, some people like their cucumbers pickled..."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" Kennedy's blood pressure was beginning to rise. She didn't enjoy her personal life being the conversation of a complete stranger.

"Now that you mention it... I don't really know. Heard someone say it back when I was a kid... thought it sounded pretty cool. It sounded a _lot_ cooler in my head." With that, Gunn flashed Kennedy a goofy little smile. It got a chuckle out of the Slayer. It was a start.

"You really believe this Jake guy, don't you?" This time, there was no hint of humor in his statement.

"Yeah... I guess I do. He's way too involved for it to be some kinda trick. Why, you don't?"

"I don't know," was Gunn's reply. It was the truth. Gunn had spent most of his life growing up on the streets. Taking people at face value was a very risky game. One that, more often than not, got you in trouble. He couldn't shake his instincts about this man. But if he was there to fight, then what harm was there in one more soldier. They were going to need all the help they could get. Easing the truck to a stop, Gunn looked out the window to the Senator's office right across the street. He could feel that familiar rush of adrenaline begin to seep up his spine. It had been quite awile sense he had got unleash some pent up fury. No time for it when you're wading through mountains of litigation. He didn't know which he hated worse, vampires or politicians. Luckily, he got to take 'em both out tonight. Opening the door of his truck, he turned back toward Kennedy, flashing that same goofy smile he had worn moments ago.

"Let's cowboy up."

* * *

Izzerial felt like he was on top of the world. It had been quite a day for the Devil. He had successfully drawn Angel into the Circle of the Black Thorn. The Champion for the Powers That Be was officially playing for the dark side now. And, if that wasn't reward enough, he had even got the vampire to sign away that pesky Shanshu clause. Now, with no hope of gaining humanity, Angel was officially entrenched in the Senior Partners' camp. Leading his associates to their car, he paused to enjoy the night air. Life was indeed good.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. His first thought was indigestion, but not even demon indigestion hurt this damn bad. He slowly looked down to his chest and was horrified to find a crossbow bolt neatly inserted in his upper rib cage. It had only been a split second, but the pain was searing. He could feel his throat and lungs filling with blood as he stared dumbfounded at the wound. Then, like a strike of lightning, two more bolts implanted themselves in his chest, ripping themselves into his lungs again. Slumping to his knees, he caught a glimpse of a pair of knee high leather boots walking his way. He thought of what a great day it _had_ been... he wanted to curse this day now, but the darkness came for him before he had the chance.

* * *

Buffy looked on from the shadows, trying desperately to stifle a grin that was spreading across her face. Seeing Spike, platinum hair and punk rock styling, completely covered in the ceremonial robe of the Fell Brethren was definitely a sight to behold. She clutched her Scythe in both hands, standing far enough in the shadows to avoid detection. She saw Spike stop at the bassinet, remove his hood, and scoop up the infant. One of the Brethren noticed this, and had moved directly between Buffy and Spike.

"You will return the vessel..." the voice boomed.

"Right," Spike replied dryly. Before he could even unleash his sword, the Brethren's head was quickly removed from its shoulders. Behind the body stood Buffy, her Scythe still humming.

"Never let a bloke have the fun, do ya luv?"

"Maybe later..." she replied grinning. The commotion had caught the attention of the rest of the Brethren, who were now moving their way to stop the intruders. Placing the baby back in the confines of the bassinet, Spike pulled forth his sword and grinned at Buffy.

"Right then. Shall we?"

* * *

"Faith. How... delightful to see you again."

"I figured you boys could use a hand down here in LA. Cleveland gets a little boring." Faith began to make her way towards the three who had just been released from the wizard's grip.

"Willow... are you alright?" Wesley inquired. It was the first time she had heard a bit of concern in his voice since they had left Angel's office.

"Yeah. I think so," came the shaking redhead's voice. Truth was, she wasn't alright. She thought that she had mastered the darker side of the magicks that flowed through her. But, feeling them begin to take over and being helpless to stop it, scared the living hell out of her. How could she help face down an army of pure evil, when one sorcerer had brought her to her knees so easily?

"Fred? Is that you? Gotta say, I'm diggin' the leather look. Blue hair is a bit much, but..."

"Illyria," Wesley cut in roughly.

"Come again?"

"Illyria," Wesley replied, clearing his throat while trying to push Fred's name out of his mind. "Her name is Illyria. She's an ancient god-king who..." Wesley's voice trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to finish the story.

"I ruled over this plane with an iron fist. In my day, every being bowed to my name. But I'm now a mere shell of my former self, stripped of my powers and forced to wade through this wretched existence in the guise of a mere human."

For once in her life, Faith was too shocked to speak. She honestly had no idea what to say. She always figured something terrible would happen when she learned Angel and crew had taken the reins of Evil Incorporated. She never thought something _this_ bad would happen.

"It's a rather complicated story Faith. One that I do not have the time nor the bearing to recount. Besides, we have more pressing matters to settle."

"Always a battle..." Faith responded, finally regaining a few of her bearings.

"Not just any battle Faith... this is _the _battle," came the quiet voice to her left. God Willow looked awful! Whatever that thing was, it had done a major number on the Wicca. She didn't look like she was in any shape to be fighting.

"Willow, you look like you just got hit by a big rig full of bad mojo, are you sure..."

"Let's go," the redhead cut in, slowly limping past the Slayer towards the mansion door.

* * *

The car ride to the Hyperion was drenched in silence. Wesley looked like a statue, eyes set upon the road and hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. Illyria knew that Fred's name was the cause. The witch known as Willow and the woman known as Faith sat in equal silence behind her. So this was the woman that Wesley was to love? She was the woman that would give birth to the Warrior of Light? Illyria was not impressed. She felt a quiet rage begin to come over her. These human emotions that had begun to swirl through her head were unbearing. She believed this one was known as... envy. How could her guide so easily fall out of love with the Burkle persona? She had watched him fall apart since her arrival, but he had always promised to be her guide. To help her through this menacing existence. It seemed that he would soon abandon her. She had been reserved to silence since the man known as Jacob had attempted to kill her earlier that day. He had spoken of her rise to power. The idea intrigued her. She despised being stripped of what rightfully belonged to her. But according to her assassin, tonight that would change. She could command the armies of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. She could stem the tide of battle, and regain all she had lost. And the pathetic humans had _brought_ her the Key. She sensed its power. She could reshape this world with it. The humans that so feebly wanted to protect it wanted her dead. She would not oblige them. She would fight this war against the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. Above all else, she loathed their rise to power in her absence. But she would not allow herself to be a sacrifice to the Powers That Be. If Wesley could not protect her, she would simply kill those that attempted to end her fate. She did not intend to die tonight.

* * *

Jake turned his attention to the figure casually walking towards both he and Angel. Marcus Hamilton. Liaison to the Senior Partners. How tough was _this_ guy going to be?

"Well, y'know what they say... you just can't keep a good guy down."

Hamilton smirked.

"I'm sure we can remedy that. I hear you have a name and a story now, weary traveler. Rumor has it that you're here from the future... that you're a warrior for the Powers. I have to say... they could have done _much_ better."

With a bat of an eye, Jake whipped out his trusty pistols and unloaded two rounds from each gun in the man's direction. All four shots hit home, sinking into Hamilton's chest. The man didn't budge.

"Aww hell..." Jake drawled.

He and Angel both sprang into action. Angel was the first to reach the man, missing with two successive punches before Hamilton simply backhanded him across the floor. Jake was next, catching Hamilton with a solid left across the face followed by a right and then a kick to the midsection. There was no reaction.

"Didn't even make a dent, did I?"

"No."

With that, Jake was sent flying across the room by a single punch. He crashed on top of the table, splintering it under the force of his impact. He immediately tasted the warm metallic liquid that was dripping from his lip.

"Sumbitch hits hard," he mumbled.

Again, it was Angel's turn. The vampire landed a few shots of his own, but again they took no effect. He managed to dodge one punch, but couldn't dodge the kick that followed. He too was sent skidding across the floor, coming to a stop at Jake's feet.

"I did beat this guy last time, right?" Angel asked as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. He had a large gash above his left eye and blood was beginning to trickle freely down the side of his face.

"Yeah... I think so..." was Jake's reply.

"Mind tellin' me how?"

"I... uhhh... don't really know. Looks like we'll have to find out the hard way."

Again, the two leapt into action, and again the two would have been better off fighting a brick wall. Hamilton swatted both of their attacks away with ease, dodging a punch and landing a headbutt that surely broke Angel's nose, then catching Jake with a nasty looking punch to the ribs. Jake heard the crack and felt the air rush out of him. They were busted, and he was in pain, slumping to the floor.

"So... the mighty Powers That Be send a cowboy back to save the day? What a joke."

With that, Hamilton simply kicked Jake in his busted ribs, catapulting him off the ground and into a stone pillar across the way.

"And Angel... why do you fight? You have nothing left to gain. You signed your precious humanity away. You cannot defeat us. We are forever."

"I guess I just didn't have anything better to do," Angel replied, steadying himself for another charge. Hamilton smiled, but his face quickly contorted with pain when a broadsword was thrust through his back. Shocked, he looked down to see himself impaled.

"Me neither," came a voice from behind Hamilton. It was Connor. Hamilton roared, then backhanded the boy across the room. He came to a skidding stop by his father.

"Connor... what the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"Well... I'm asking myself that same question."

Jake saw the scene unfolding before him. He had pulled himself upright on the battered remains of the pillar. He was bleeding pretty bad and his ribs felt like they had been caved in, but he had to press on. He couldn't die here. Not yet. He watched as Hamilton reached wildly around, trying to pull the sword from his back.

"Let's finish this," he rasped as he dove at Hamilton, successfully planting the heel of his boot to Hamilton's lower back. The man howled in pain and swung wildly at Jake. He dodged easily, then landed another kick to the back. It brought Hamilton to his knees. Suddenly, Angel was back in the mix, landing two kicks to Hamilton's stomach. The man doubled over in agony. Jake locked eyes with Angel, and the vampire nodded. Jake pulled free his blade and brought it crashing down on Hamilton's neck, Roman execution style. Hamilton's screams were cut off, as he began to gag on his own blood. With one mighty twist, Angel snapped the man's neck, and watched as the liaison fell lifeless to the floor.

"Well... that way is as good as any..." Jake bit out, clutching his ribs and falling to one knee. As he hit the ground, the room began to quake violently.

"This can't be good," Connor remarked.

"Get out of here son... NOW!"

"Angel... no... we need him," Jake growled between sharp breaths.

"I will NOT risk my son in this fight!"

Jake pulled himself to his feet, he took a few well calculated steps towards the bleeding vampire.

"We need him Angel. He's the only that can protect Dawn if we fail."

Angel eyed the man closely, the quaking building and debris falling seemed to fade off in the background. This guy was convincing, he had to concede that. But he was one helluva fighter, and he hadn't been wrong yet. Besides, the man was right. If anything Jake had said earlier was going to come true, Illyria would go after Dawn. Connor was probably the only one strong enough to protect her.

"Fine. Let's get out of here,"

* * *

The three made their way to the door as quickly as they could. Half running, half limping into the lobby, the three saw Eve staring at the ceiling?

"What's happening?" she asked, unable to mask the terror in her voice.

"I think we just got the pink slip, Eve. Time to go..."

"What about..."

"He's there Eve. Let's get to the Hyperion..."

* * *

The small group that stood outside the Hyperion looked ragged. Faith, Willow, Wesley, and Illyria had been the first to arrive. Kennedy and Gunn had shown up shortly after. Both were a bit battered, but only Gunn was bleeding, and even it was only from a few small gashes across his arms. Kennedy and Willow immediately shared an embrace, Willow shaking violently from her ordeal with Vail and from the driving rain. Wesley couldn't quite make out what the two were saying, their voices drowned out in the downpour. He hoped it was reassurance. As much as the sight of Willow cut him to the quick, they would obviously need her in this fight. Buffy and Spike were next, both covered in blood, but apparently not their own. It appeared the two had saved the infant. They however were leaned against the aging brick wall to their left, noticeably exhausted.

"Nice to you finally show up, Faith." Buffy exclaimed between breaths.

"Yeah well, I guess the Slayer hotline is down, cause I know I didn't get a call from you B."

"Wasn't my call."

"Yeah right... since when did anybody _but_ Queen Buff start callin' the shots."

"Since the Powers That Be stepped in," came a voice stepping into view. Lorne, with Lindsey in tow.

"I know you..." Faith growled, taking a step closer to the ex-lawyer. Wesley immediately stepped between the two.

"As disappointed as I am that Lindsey survived, he's fighting for our side. For tonight, anyway."

Faith took a step back. Had she woke up in Bizarro world? Fred was gone, neither Buffy nor Angel was calling the shots, and Evil Inc.'s top-dog lawyer was now fighting the good fight?

"Ever'body here?" came the Southern drawl emerging from the rain. The figure was limping fairly bad. The blood from his multiple gashes streaked his face as the rain tried like hell to wash it away. Angel came into view beside him, looking as bad if not worse. He didn't sport the limp, but his nose looked as if it had been a blood spigot that had been opened to full pour. Faith immediately noticed the first man, the one sporting the tattered felt hat and faded brown duster.

"Who's the cowboy? He's kinda ho..."

"Hold that thought sweetcheeks," Lorne whispered into her ear, cutting her off in mid-sentence. "That's your son."


	15. Armaggedon: Act II

**Sorry for the delay everyone. Life does what life does, and that's get more hectic ever'damn day. Between exams, papers, and everything else, I've been pretty pressed for time. Guess that's just the way it goes. Thanks for all the reviews, and here's the next chapter. It might be long, but it needs to be. Next chapter is the finale!**

* * *

Giles and Xander each stood looking out the rain splattered windows of the Hyperion Hotel. California wasn't particularly known for freak thunderstorms. But it seemed only fitting. How often do you fight an apocalypse on a beautiful summer evening? Behind them, Giles could hear pacing footsteps. They're soft patter atop the hardwood floors made for an unmistakable rhythm. Dawn was pissed. Not only was she pissed, she was livid. He knew that she had proven herself in battles before. But Giles knew that the allure of the Key was too much to risk. Especially in the presence of an Old One.

Suddenly, a hard knock came at the large oaken door. Giles and Xander exchanged a pensive glance. They had erected a mystical barrier and a sanctuary spell. Anything trying to barge in should, in theory, be repelled. Their eyes both widened when the door simply swung open and a shaggy looking teenage boy came stumbling in, drenched in the already pouring rain. Giles immediately leveled the crossbow in his right hand at the figure, more than willing to pull the trigger. As if on cue, the boy's hands shot up as he attempted to shake the soaked locks from his face.

"Whoa whoa! I'm a friend of Angel's!"

"Really?" Xander quipped, pulling into view his own crossbow. "Got a name? Or are you just another ex-employee?"

The figure simply grinned.

"My name is Connor. I was sent here to protect a girl... uhhh... Dawn I think..."

With that, Dawn came walking towards the terrace where the three figures stood. She eyed the newcomer with a mix of curiosity and apprehensiveness.

"Who are you, again?"

Connor looked forward, trying to suppress the sheepish smile that was forming on his face.

"I'm Connor. I'm Angel's... errr... son."

* * *

Faith's brain simply locked up. And, considering the source, that was unbelievable. Her mouth simply hung in place, unable to complete the sentence that she had begun. She turned toward the green demon, whose sharp blue suit had taken almost taken a purple look due to the rain. He simply flashed her a smile, then began to tread out of the alley.

"W-what! What the hell do you mean? I don't..."

"No time for that now sweetheart... you've got a big piece of pie by the name of 'apocalypse' to chew on..."

With that, Lorne continued his trek out of the alley. His heart broke with every step he took. He hated walking out on his friends, especially under these conditions. But he had told Angel he was finished. And he meant it. There were no bright colors left in his spectrum. Everything seemed to blur between black and white, forming an ugly color of gray that not even Armani could convince him to don. He pulled the pistol out of his jacket pocket and simply dropped it on the rain soaked pavement. He didn't know where he would go from here. Los Angeles had been his home since he arrived from Pylea. But there was too much pain and not enough booze to make him forget the loss. Everyone had lost so much in the past few years... but he was going to be the selfish one this time. He was going to take his losses and walk away. He had never been one for the fight... it just wasn't his style.

* * *

Faith continued to look on slackjawed as the green demon slowly disappeared into the darkness. Her sight quickly fell on both Angel and this person that was _supposedly_ her son.

"What the hell does he mean?"

"Don't put any stock in it Faith," came a clipped British reply from behind her. She turned to see Wesley eyeing the scene before him like a hawk. "This man claims to be from the future. He is says that he is _our_ son."

Before Faith could react, another voice rose up from behind her. This time it was the man in the felt hat.

"I make no claims. I'm only tellin' ya the truth."

"Or what you _claim_ is truth. I have no doubts that you are nothing more than another foil from our good employers the Senior Partners."

"Have you lost yer damn mind! Awful lot of string pullin' for this to be a set up there Pops!"

Wesley made a menacing step forward.

"If you do not refrain from calling me that, so help me I will..."

"ENOUGH" came the roar from the back of the crowd. Angel stepped through the crowd that was beginning to form around the two men.

"We don't have time for this! The fight's down the alley, not here. We all came here to finally tip the scales in this war. If you're gonna piss and moan between each other... then get out!"

A hush filled over the group that was assembled in the rain. Angel had more or less sat back and let everything play out the way Jake had foretold it. Now he seemed to have had enough. The group looked down toward the opposite end of the alley.

* * *

It was hard to make out single figures through the darkness, rain, and the sheer multitude of demons moving their way. Angel could feel the heat. This was the fight they had been waiting for. The fight that _he_ had been waiting for. He let out a semi-wicked smile, feeling the ridges rise on his forehead and his teeth begin to slightly drop.

"Let's roll."

* * *

Without warning, Angel's billowy duster leapt into the fray. He was followed by Spike, and next by the rest of the group. The demon force was impressive to say the least. But like all foot soldiers, they seemed to be easily pushed back. Angel and Spike lead the point, slashing away visciously with matching bloodstained broadswords. Buffy and Faith were on either side of the vampires, also attempting to perfect the hack and slash. The rest of the group was spread across the alley on both sides. Wesley did not believe the man fighting to his right, but he had to admit, the two shared an eerily similar fighting style. Rather then simply charge ahead with a blunt instrument, both men had pistols leveled at the oncoming horde, meticulously picking out targets one by one by. But, the farther the group seemed to push, the less ground they seemed to be making. The demons pouring out were too many. The fight had just begun, but already their line in seemed in danger of being broken.

"Now would be a good time for the Supergirls," Spike drawled as he removed his sword from the abdomen of a now lifeless demon.

"They're on the way Spike!" Buffy replied, trying to keep her focus ahead on the demons before her, and not over her shoulder to make sure that Spike didn't suddenly turn into a cloud of ash.

But the tide was turning faster than they had all expected. Suddenly, a group of demons burst through the line, officially bringing total chaos to the front of everyone's mind.

* * *

This was not the way things were supposed to happen. Jake never held the intention of taking part in this battle. His mission was clear. Kill Illyria and let the Champions duke it out with the Senior Partners. Now, not only was he fighting off a demon horde from every direction, but he had lost sight of Illyria. He knew she would turn during the fight. He had to find her and kill her. The consequences mattered little. He had come too far and brought too many people together to come up short.

Wesley fought with the cool demeanor you would normally find only in an assassin. Under other circumstances, his calculating moves might scare the hell out of even himself. But he was determined to see this fight to the end. However, he was even more determined to protect Illyria from any harm that might come from Jacob. He unloaded the final round of his second Beretta into what appeared to be the skull of a demon before him, shucked his pistol and swung out his saber. Two good chest-high swipes brought another demon down before him. It was then that he saw the scene unfolding to his left. Amidst the choas, he could make out the chartreuse locks of Illyria. Only she wasn't fighting. She was standing perfectly still. Wesley slashed forward. She couldn't be hurt. Not yet. He didn't see the demon claw coming from his blindside. All he heard was the sickening crack in his ear.

"Shit Wes! Don't Watchers normally... watch!"

It was Faith, coming through right in the nick of time. Her sword had separated the demon's claw from its upper arm. The being went down in a howl of pain. Wes simply gave his former Slayer a wry grin and turned his attention back to Illyria. He rushed forward, not hearing Faith hot on his heels. Neither was prepared for what they saw next. Illyria, with a legion of demons kneeling before her.

"No... no... it can't be..." Wesley muttered to himself.

"The legion has gathered Wesley," came the almost ominous reply from the God King before him. "With them lies victory."

Wesley was shell-shocked.

"No... Illyria... this is not the way!"

"Why! Why is this not the way! You believe the time traveler? You believe the vampire? The half breed that raped your mind and distorted all of reality to put you down? Or is what your son said true? Do you truly feel a life connection to... _her_?"

Illyria pointed in Faith's direction. Wesley had not even noticed her standing there before. This could not be happening. He wouldn't allow it.

"Illyria... he's not my..."

"Silence! You know the truth Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You would betray me... betray the Burkle persona for your torturer?"

"Look here Fred err... whatever... I don't know what got in to you but..."

Faith was cut off as a dagger thrust into the side of her abdomen. She looked up in horror to see Illyria hand clutching the dagger, hilt deep as blood slowly began to trickle down her shirt.

"I will not allow it," Illyria rasped, pulling the dagger free. Faith took a step then slowly slumped to her knees.

* * *

Wesley looked on in horror. It was all true. All of it. Everything he had tried to deny was unfolding before him. How had he been such a stupid git!

"I shall turn this tide. With or without you Wesley. I shall have the Key and I shall rid the world of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart."

Illyria suddenly found Wesley's saber at her neck. It couldn't tell whether the water streaking down his face, washing the blood from his cheeks was rain or tears. It didn't really care.

"I cannot allow you to do this. This is not the way."

Illyria let out a shrill laugh.

"You cannot kill me Wesley." Suddenly, Illyria transformed. The figure standing before was no longer the blue haired God-King Illyria. It was the trembling figure of Winifred Burkle.

"You wouldn't... kill me... would you Wesley?"

Wesley gut wrenched into knots tighter than any human's should. He now found the edge of his blade at the throat of his dearly beloved.

"Please Wes," it said, pushing the blade away slowly. "We can make it all end. It will be just you and me... the way it was always meant to be..."

"It's not true Pop. You know it."

Both Wesley and Fred/Illyria's gaze turned behind them. It was Jake, standing with his pistol leveled in Illyria's direction.

"Shh... don't listen to him Wes... he's not your son... don't let him take me away from you... not again. Please Wes... let me stay..."

In the blink of an eye, Fred's shell pushed Wesley away and let loose the blood soaked dagger in Jake's direction. It caught the man square in his right shoulder, ripping him to the ground.

"Now it ends," the Fred-shell rasped out, stalking towards Jake's body.

* * *

Jake clutched wildly at the dagger in his shoulder. The pain searing through him was unbelievable. Finally grasping hold of the slick handle, he ripped it out, bellowing in pain. He heard Illyria's remarks and the footsteps coming towards him, slapping through the rain.

"Yer damn right," he bit out. He rolled to his side and discharged a round. The bullet ripped through the rain, hitting its mark in Illyria's shoulder. The force of the shot sent Illyria backwards and to its knees. Still in the visage of Fred, it slowly ran its hand to the bullet wound, then back to the ground examining the wound. It locked eyes with Jake, who now lay frozen on the pavement in both pain and anguish.

"You missed," it drawled out in Fred's slight Texas twang. It rose to its feet and began to stalk forward. Then it happened. Out of nowhere, a blade shot through the shell's chest and quickly retracted. Both Jake and Illyria met in a shocked gaze. Illyria slowly turned around, and it locked eyes with its assassin. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. It tried to mouth something to Wesley, but the words never came. The visage began to dissipate as Illyria slumped to the ground. When its lifeless husk finally reached pavement, all that was left was the blue haired demon they had been accustomed to. Jake looked up and saw the look in Wesley's eyes. There was nothing there. No feeling. No emotion. Just a window to a hollow soul.

* * *

Wesley slumped to his knees sobbing. His mind was locked. Seized. He waited for some demon, somewhere to finally give him peace. Just kill him. He could hear the legion roar just yards behind him. Maybe the end would be quick. He turned slightly to open death, but instead was met by surprise as a flurry of crossbow bolts buried into the legion charging his way. The Slayers had finally arrived. He turned back to see Jake, slowly limping towards him. The two locked eyes, Wesley almost too ashamed to speak.

"You've got to take care of her now," Jake nodded and turned back towards the fight. Wesley simply traced Jake's gaze back to the body laying merely feet away. There lay Faith, bleeding heavily from the dagger wound, but still breathing.

* * *

Angel could hear the cries of the teenage girls roaring down the alleyway behind him. He turned to see the Slayers in full force, not only beginning to eliminate the demons who had outflanked them, but beginning to shore up the lines that had pressed down the alley.

"S'like the cavalry has 'rrived," Spike drawled. A flash of light suddenly erupted at the other end of the alley, causing the fighting to come to a complete standstill. At the back of the demon horde, three figures emerged from the flaming light. The Wolf... the Ram... and the Hart.

"Looks like they both have," Angel gritted out.


End file.
